


Sea-Change

by Rosie J (darthmelyanna)



Category: Emma - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Accidental Plot, F/M, also elizabeth takes on highbury, seriously i was halfway through before realizing that the date ought to affect the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-03-19 16:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmelyanna/pseuds/Rosie%20J
Summary: In the summer of 1815, Elizabeth Bennet visits Weymouth with the Bingleys. There she crosses paths with Captain Fitzwilliam Darcy, newly retired from the Royal Navy and visiting his cousins at the seaside.





	1. In which acquaintances are renewed

**Author's Note:**

> Note: If you’ve only got room in your heart for one Captain Darcy story, by all means, make it Fair Stands the Wind. But if there’s room for a second one, I hope you'll give mine a try.
> 
> Many thanks to putitbriefly, who has done yeoman’s work in helping me with the plot and with untangling wayward sentences, and to Beckirs, who kept encouraging me to work on this.
> 
> Enjoy!

_July 28, 1815_

My dear cousin,

You cannot imagine my happiness to know you will be in England again soon. In fact, I hope this letter does not reach you until you have returned! You have been greatly missed at home. I do hope you visit us on your way to Pemberley. Isabella is, of course, greatly relieved that you have not yet been boarded by pirates or sunk by the French, and expects such news daily.

You must think nothing of my marital bliss, as you put it in your last. Mr. Knightley and I have been quite comfortable with each other for some time, and we neither of us are averse to company. I should also mention that there are no eligible young ladies in the neighborhood, so I can have no ulterior motives in inviting you and you can have no reason to refuse me. But I suspect you are teasing me, and I expect you in Highbury as soon as may be.

In the last two weeks, heavy rains finally washed out the bridge on the low road from the village to Hartfield. Mr. Knightley would rather I did not tell you this, but he is relieved. He has long feared the bridge would collapse when some poor soul tried to haul too heavy a load over it. There is much discussion between him and his brother about the prospects of a new bridge. I fear it may be the most overwrought bridge in all of Surrey, but I think they are enjoying themselves.

The Eltons have welcomed another child into the world, another boy. I hope this one will be better behaved than his brother, but with such a mother’s discipline, I confess my doubts. Do you know, I think Mrs. Elton was hoping to be able to hire Jane Fairfax (as was) as governess for her children. Jane is better off by far where she is.

I had a letter from Mrs. Churchill a few days ago; they are for Weymouth and ask us to join them. Our plans are not yet settled, but we hope to make the journey. Perhaps if you cannot come to Surrey you may meet us there, provided you have not had your fill of sea air.

I would write more, but Major Darcy has arrived at Donwell with an offer to carry letters to your friend Captain Harriman, so I must close. You remain in our prayers, and I remain

Your loving, meddling cousin,  
E.K.

* * *

In Hertfordshire, the village of Meryton and its vicinity had seen its share of excitement in recent years. Netherfield Park, that great estate, was let at last by a young man of good fortune from the north. He stayed only long enough to marry one of his neighbor’s daughters. Local legend claimed he married very much against the will of his sisters, but what are sisters to true love?

In any case, the wealthy Charles Bingley married the beautiful Jane Bennet, and all was well with the world. His sisters, being enemies of true love, removed themselves from his household, one by taking up residence with her husband’s family, and the other by marrying a Scottish lord more in want of wealth than good company.

But the idyllic is never meant to last, and Meryton in Hertfordshire was no exception. Within three years, both of the former Miss Bennet’s parents were dead, and the family estate fell to a distant cousin. Mrs. Bingley’s mother was a diligent soul and had, before her demise, seen four of her five daughters safely married. Only Elizabeth was left to nurse her father through his final illness; when it had taken him at last, all that remained was to remove to the Bingleys’ household.

It may safely be assumed that a young woman of four-and-twenty can be depended upon to be a better creature than she was a few years earlier, especially if she were never so very bad in the first place. Time had wrought a few changes in Elizabeth Bennet. She had once been bright and sparkling, but hard and unyielding. She could be pleasing anywhere and often was, but at that time in her life, her good opinion once lost was lost forever. The deaths of her parents and her dependence upon her brother had brought a moderation in her opinions and a softening of her judgment.

Her situation, as the unmarried sister in her brother’s house, was becoming distasteful to her as well. In her father’s house she had never minded her maiden state, for her father had given her much liberty. Charles Bingley was no tyrant, but Elizabeth felt very much that she had surrendered her independence when she came to live with him and her sister, without the benefits of the married state. Yet she had never seen a young man to whom she thought she could be happily wed.

In the end, she felt a strong pull to go, like a longing to set sail. When plans were made for a summer at Weymouth, Elizabeth Bennet was more than ready to take to the sea.

* * *

The village of Highbury was no stranger to happenings of great interest. They had witnessed the intrigue of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax’s secret engagement, followed by a second uniting of the Donwell and Hartfield families. In the minds of many, nothing was left but to settle the whole country in domestic bliss.

Naturally, there was a little more to be done. Mrs. Elton, so fond of her preeminence, had to give way to the new Mrs. Knightley. Little did she care for the change, despite knowing that, as Miss Augusta Hawkins was inferior to Miss Emma Woodhouse, so must Mrs. Elton be inferior to Mrs. Knightley. She had some little consolation in her children, blessed quickly with two healthy boys whom she could display for her guests before entertaining in a style not quite what she had imagined before she was married, but sufficient for the society around Highbury.

Mrs. Weston’s new role as a mother in no way diminished her intimacy at Hartfield; indeed, with Mr. and Mrs. Knightley as Anna Weston’s godparents, it was only right that the two families should remain on close terms. The deepening friendship was a source of great contentment for Emma, though she resisted the inclination at every turn to begin arranging her goddaughter’s life.

For Emma herself, there was satisfaction and joy in the changes in her life, but it was tempered with sorrow. Not a year had passed since her wedding before her father died. Though Henry Woodhouse was always concerned for the safety and well-being of himself and everyone around him, his death in his sleep came as a great shock. Emma mourned him bitterly, supported by her husband and friends. Even having Isabella’s family in Highbury was only a small consolation at first, for their occupation of Hartfield was only a reminder that her father was gone.

But time passed, and her grief became something she could live with. She and Mr. Knightley removed to Donwell Abbey permanently, and life took on a new routine. She and Isabella were now the leading women of Highbury and Donwell parishes, and they were each in their way determined to do what they could for the people around them.

Only one thing continued to mar Emma’s contentment after her father’s passing, and that was that there were no children for her yet. Her sister had given birth to a sixth child just before Mr. Woodhouse died, and Emma assumed she too would soon bear a child. While she lived with both her father and her husband, it seemed good for her father’s peace that it did not happen, but now she was growing concerned.

When the Churchills’ invitation to join them in Weymouth arrived, Emma and Mr. Knightley were both eager for the change of scenery. Then her cousin Darcy wrote that he was coming home, and Emma was certain, as she had never before been certain, that things were changing for the better at last.

* * *

“Lizzy, I do wish you would let Bellamy try something new with your hair,” Jane said as their carriage approached the Royal Hotel. “You favor such plain styles these days.”

Elizabeth gave a vague reply and wished Jane, with her feathered headdress and golden curls, would leave well enough alone. She rather liked her simpler style, with only a few flowers to adorn her dark hair.

When they arrived, Charles handed Jane and then Elizabeth out of the carriage and escorted them into the assembly room. They attracted a great deal of attention—Jane always did, and her tall headdress ensured even more—and before the dancing began, more than one gentleman had applied to Mr. Rodber, the master of ceremonies, to secure an introduction. The introduction of a _Mrs._ rather than a _Miss_ disappointed several of them, but the more polite young men turned their attention to Elizabeth.

Thus Elizabeth was never without a partner, which was the best way to occupy oneself at an assembly, after all. Once, however, when her partner escorted her back to her brother and sister, she found Charles in a lively discussion with a gentleman whom she had never seen before.

The man had with him a woman who rivaled even Jane in beauty, though hers was of a very different sort. Her rich blue gown set off her clear complexion, and pearls shimmered in her dark hair. There was a simplicity in her elegance which Elizabeth liked very much.

“Oh, Lizzy, I must introduce you to my old friend,” Charles said, when he noticed her return. “Mr. Frank Churchill; we knew each other at school in Yorkshire. And his wife, of course, Mrs. Jane Churchill. This is my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth smiled as she curtsied, a little amused that this great beauty was also a Jane. “Pleased to meet you.”

The lady curtsied and the gentleman bowed. “Let me introduce you all to our friends,” Mr. Churchill said, with an energy that reminded Elizabeth more than a little of her brother. “There they are now. Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, do come!”

Another handsome couple approached, though they were very different from the Churchills. The lady was lovely, if not quite as elegant as Mrs. Churchill, and the husband, several years older than the wife, was confident and gentlemanlike in all his manner. It seemed that the four friends were all from the same part of Surrey, though the Churchills no longer lived there.

Eventually Charles asked Mrs. Churchill to dance, and Elizabeth’s sister conversed comfortably with Mr. Churchill. This left Elizabeth with the Knightleys. After ascertaining how long each had been in Weymouth, Elizabeth asked Mrs. Knightley how she liked the place.

“Oh, I am very pleased with Weymouth,” said she. “It answers exactly for what I wished. So many people, the highest fashions, everything fresh and new. Life in the country can be so confined and unvarying.”

She then glanced at Elizabeth’s hair and opened her mouth, but her husband remarked on the virtues of country life and Mrs. Knightley turned her energy to debating him.

It was not until some time later that Elizabeth began to wonder what Mrs. Knightley meant by her remark.

* * *

Mr. Bingley and Mr. Churchill, as old friends of similarly easy dispositions, fell into the patterns of friendship as though they had never been separated. Emma had a suspicion that her husband was not altogether pleased to be present for this renewed friendship. Mr. Knightley had little use for such men. He had never quite forgiven Mr. Churchill for his deception regarding Jane Fairfax, thinking it said a great deal about his character. Mr. Churchill had made overtures of friendship and for Emma’s sake he would tolerate the man’s company, but they would never be close.

Charles Bingley was amiable and affable; Mr. Knightley readily granted that there was no duplicity in him. Like his friend, he had married a woman who was perhaps better than he deserved. The beautiful Mrs. Bingley was a gentle soul, and Mr. Bingley seemed to think she had done him a great honor in marrying him. He was not so sure of himself as his friend, however, and Emma could admire a person seeking the advice of others rather than giving it, even if she was not quite such a person herself.

“So, Mr. Knightley,” she said one night after dining with the Churchills and Bingleys, “what do you think of our new friends?”

Mr. Knightley looked up from his book with a fond smile. “Should I be thankful he is already married?”

“Of course not. Besides, there is no one among my acquaintance whom he could marry.”

“A blessing for him, then.”

“You are avoiding the question, Mr. Knightley,” she said, sitting across from him.

“He is pleasant enough,” he finally admitted. “He does not seem very practiced at knowing his own mind, but at least he is accommodating.”

“Yes, that is exactly the word I would use to describe him.”

He was starting to look suspicious when she agreed with him. “His wife is a beautiful creature,” he said mildly.

“Very.”

“And Miss Bennet is quite clever.”

“Oh, yes.”

“My dear Emma,” said he, setting his book aside, “say what you wish to say.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Is she not a little too clever? Too independent?”

Mr. Knightley looked faintly amused. “I hardly think anyone can be too clever, and you are hardly one to talk. As for her independence, is she not quite dependent upon her brother and sister? The Bingleys may be everything amiable, but Miss Bennet strikes me as wanting something more than merely amiable from the company she keeps of her own choosing.”

Emma hummed, feigning disapproval, and moved across to sit with him on the sofa. “She makes my table uneven.”

“Yes, an excellent reason for your dislike.”

That caught her short. “I suppose I do dislike her. Yet I think it is more a matter of her dislike of me.”

“I will not let you blame Miss Bennet, Emma. I like her very well.”

She sighed. “You said as much about Jane Fairfax.”

“And I was right about her.”

“You were right about many things that year.”

“But not everything.”

Emma tilted her head and smiled slightly. “And that is the first time you have ever made such an allowance, I think.”

“I must give you credit for some good decisions that year,” he said. “You married me, after all.”

“Oh!” she cried. “Yes, you would be an excellent judge of that.”

“Of course I am. You, dear Emma, are the only wife I could ever have.”

“Possibly the only woman who would tolerate you as a husband.”

“Entirely possible.”

She smiled and leaned against him; he immediately set his arm about her and kissed the top of her head. “I do not think I knew how very lonely I was before we were married, dearest Emma,” he murmured. “There was a moment of real despair, when I thought you would marry someone else. But you never could, could you?”

Mr. Knightley did not often talk like this, and perhaps its scarcity made it more precious to Emma. She took up his hand and pressed tender kisses to his fingers. “Only you.”

* * *

It took Elizabeth some time to realize why Weymouth felt so strange: her little niece, named for her but known to everyone as Birdie, was not with them. She had been left in London, with the Gardiners. They had come to Weymouth for Jane’s health, which had been indifferent since a difficult lying-in. Jane’s illness left Elizabeth spending more time with her little namesake. She did not mind it, but she wondered if Jane missed Birdie as much as she did.

At least Birdie always gave her something new to do. In Weymouth life fell into a pattern very quickly. Nearly every day and almost as many evenings were spent, one way or another, with the Churchills and their friends the Knightleys. Elizabeth did occasionally think Mr. Knightley was not entirely happy with the degree to which Mr. Churchill was arranging their activities, but he did not attempt to intervene.

One morning they had no plans with the other party, so Charles suggested they go for a walk. “It is such a fine day,” he said at the breakfast table. “What do you say to a walk, Lizzy? I fear we have been a little neglectful of your favorite pastime lately.”

Elizabeth agreed to the scheme with alacrity. “Have you a place in mind?”

“The promenade,” he replied. “We have only been near it once or twice, and Jane thought the sea air would do her good.”

So they were off to the promenade. It was a remarkable sight, a long row of modern houses buffeted by the sea. The sky was bright and clear, the sea as beautiful a blue as Elizabeth had ever imagined. Pleasure boats could be seen nearby, with tall ships beyond the harbor.

The street was also full of people, not just on their way from one place to another, but out to see and be seen. Elizabeth might have liked the sea very well if she could have been alone with it, but there was no such luck in Weymouth, at least at first. Eventually shops and sea-bathing and parties and expeditions would call the crowd away from the promenade, and Elizabeth could see everything as it was.

“How do you like it, Lizzy?” Jane asked, when they stopped and looked out at the sea.

“I have never seen its like,” Elizabeth replied. “I think I could stay by the sea forever in perfect contentment.”

On Jane’s other side, Charles leaned forward to see Elizabeth better. “Then take a navy man for a husband.”

“A navy man? No, I do not think I would like that,” Elizabeth said, offering a smile. “What dreadful manners a man might pick up on board a ship like that, with no ladies to be polite to.”

“No different than school,” he replied. “Besides, a navy man might be at sea nine months out of twelve.”

“Yes, and I should not like a husband who left me with the children while he is off fighting pirates.”

“Then you want a recently retired navy man, who has lived with his family long enough to have the rough edges knocked off.”

“A navy man with a limp, then, or a great scar upon his face, or—”

“Peace!” he cried, laughing. “I see you are determined to be displeased.”

“Only with a navy man, Charles. Only with a navy man.”

“Very well. I shall have to come up with a new scheme.”

Jane murmured an agreement. Elizabeth turned her eyes and her heart back to the sea.

* * *

“Mrs. Knightley, what are you reading?” Mr. Churchill asked.

It was a rainy evening in Weymouth, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies in Emma’s drawing room, she was quite content to be a little apart from the rest of them. She was not quite embarrassed to have her inattention called to everyone’s notice, but she was conscious of it. “Oh,” said she, “nothing of consequence.”

"I beg to differ,” her inquisitor argued. “It has occupied you quite wholly this quarter hour. Come, should old friends keep secrets?”

Emma was momentarily too shocked by such a statement on secrecy from _Frank Churchill_ to respond. Mrs. Churchill felt the impropriety too, but it was Miss Bennet, who surely knew nothing of the history among them, who prevented Frank from pressing his point and possibly goading Mr. Knightley into speaking more directly than he ought. “Mr. Churchill, I am afraid a lady’s reading choices may be as dull as any man’s,” she told him. “Only yesterday I found myself reading about a parliamentary debate on grain prices.”

“I will not allow it to be dull to keep abreast of the nation’s business,” he replied, “even for a lady.”

“Ah!” Miss Bennet said, smiling sweetly, “my information was at least a fortnight old.”

Frank would never back down even if proven wrong, so Emma threw a glance at her husband. Mr. Knightley immediately moved to end the conversation. “Shall we have some music? Mrs. Churchill, would you be so kind?”

Emma was not sorry to hear her play, nor sorry to have Miss Bennet move beside her. “I trust there is no danger in his returning to the subject,” she said lowly.

“Very little,” Emma replied. “Somehow he is both tenacious and easily distracted.”

Miss Bennet smiled at the characterization. “A fortunate combination.”

“Indeed.” After a moment, Emma sighed. “I don’t know why I was so reluctant to tell him what I was reading.”

The other young woman looked to see the Naval Chronicle. “I suppose it is not common reading for a woman.”

“Not until a loved one is at sea.” Mr. Knightley drew closer then and covered the Chronicle with one of his own books, and Emma gave him a smile.

“Your brother?” Miss Bennet asked.

“My cousin. We were not especially close when he went to sea—he is seven years my senior, and I was very young when he first left England—but after a steady correspondence of more than fifteen years, we are very good friends now.”

“Yes, when you were a little younger I thought your correspondence with Captain Darcy was most commendable,” Mr. Knightley put in.

Emma blushed, sure she knew what he implied, but Miss Bennet spoke before she could. “Is it not yet commendable?”

“I believe it gave Emma an avenue to talk of nothing but herself to a captive audience.”

Miss Bennet pressed her lips together as though suppressing a laugh. Thankfully, before anyone could say anything further, Mrs. Churchill reached her final chord and they were required to return their attention to the rest of the party.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy, of the Pemberley Darcys in Derbyshire, was not unlike other second sons in the kingdom. To be sure, he was a little better off than most, with a settlement from his mother’s family, and a great deal better looking than the average gentleman, but he was also possessed of an elder brother who, being an affable man of good judgment and upright character, was unlikely to die and leave Pemberley in his brother’s hands. Indeed, the elder Darcy brother had always enjoyed excellent health, and his marriage had resulted in four children already.

So the younger brother went to sea to find his fortune, and find it he did. A gifted young sailor, he rose through the ranks steadily until war with Napoleon broke out and his captaincy was assured. Captain Darcy had had command of three ships at various times, taking pirates off the African coasts, sailing to the West Indies, and helping to suppress the slave trade. This time he came ashore onboard the _Fortuna_ , docking in Portsmouth.

Despite his cousin’s hopes, Emma’s letter did arrive before he reached land. Being a man of action, he did not take long to decide what he would do. The letter was dated some weeks back, and it was likely Emma and her husband were already gone from Highbury. Weymouth was not directly in his way to Derbyshire, but not so far away to make it an unreasonable stop. A seat in a mail coach was easily got, and the following afternoon he was in Weymouth.

A very little inquiry was required to learn his cousin was indeed in town; an equally small amount of time prepared him to call on her. Her husband had taken a house not far from the sea, a stately house just grand enough for Emma’s taste. Darcy smiled to see it.

He was allowed in, and the housekeeper dutifully took him to a sitting room above stairs and announced him. Emma was within, along with a gentleman, but Darcy had no time to take them in. His cousin was up from her seat and embracing him almost the moment he entered the room, and he laughed with her.

“Darcy,” cried she, “when did you return to England?”

“Only yesterday. I took a chance that you might be here instead of in Highbury.” He set her back by her shoulders and looked at her. “My dear cousin; or I should say, dear Mrs. Knightley. You have my heartiest congratulations.”

She beamed at him. Then the clearing of a throat called her back to the present. “Oh! I have quite forgot myself,” she said. “Cousin, I believe you know my husband, George Knightley.”

“How do you do, sir,” he said to the gentleman, who rose to shake his hand. “And congratulations to you as well.”

“I thank you very much, Darcy,” Knightley replied. “But we are cousins now, so you must dispense with such formality.”

“With pleasure, cousin.”

“Where are you staying?” Emma asked of him. “No matter; you must stay with us. We are to dine before long. Only reached England yesterday!—what am I saying? You need to rest!”

Darcy had never seen his cousin so flustered, not even when she was very small. “Emma, let me be the judge of that,” he said, laughing.

Emma blushed in mild embarrassment. “Please, you must stay with us,” she repeated. “I have not seen you in so long; I could not bear the idea of you staying in a hotel when you could be with family.”

“Yes, you cannot stand the thought of him in quiet and privacy,” Knightley said.

“Mr. Knightley,” she said, amused, “we are not all so fond of solitude.”

There Knightley laughed. “My dear Emma, I would wager my life that your _Darcy_ cousin is as little fond of bustle and busyness as you.”

“What utter nonsense. Do you think there is no _bustle and busyness_ at sea?”

“Aye, I am sure there is, but he is a captain, and may order the chaos as he likes.”

Emma turned away from her husband and gave Darcy a serene smile. She looked to be on the point of persuading him again, so he held up his hands. “I will stay with you.”

“Excellent. If you are able, you must dine with us tonight.”

“Emma…” Knightley warned.

“It is only a small party,” she said, looking over her shoulder at her husband for a moment. “Only the Churchills, and the Bingleys and their sister. Mr. Bingley is an old schoolfellow of Frank Churchill.”

Darcy agreed to it readily, and Emma, with reluctance, allowed him to depart.


	2. In which Emma’s table is even again

Elizabeth came into the Knightleys’ house that evening expecting more of the usual conversation, but she was in for a surprise. The Knightleys had a guest, a tall man in a navy uniform, who was without question the best-looking man Elizabeth had ever seen. A thin, faint scar traveled from his cheek up into his dark hair, the only blemish on his tanned face. Were it not for that scar and his uniform, he would not have been out of place in the most fashionable London drawing room.

Mrs. Knightley was usually the picture of gracious serenity when they were invited to dine, but tonight she was all trembling smiles. The Churchills were a step behind the Bingley party, and Elizabeth watched with some fascination as Mrs. Knightley attempted to compose herself. “Forgive me,” she said. “My cousin arrived today quite without warning.”

Elizabeth remembered that evening a fortnight ago when Mrs. Knightley had not wanted the party to know of her interest in the navy. She had not expected such unbridled pleasure upon their reunion. Mrs. Knightley was almost giddy, and her cousin was smiling unreservedly. “Allow me to introduce you all,” Mr. Knightley said. “Mr. and Mrs. Frank Churchill of Enscombe in Yorkshire. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley and their sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. My wife’s cousin, Captain Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

For a moment Elizabeth wondered if he was Fitzwilliam Darcy or Fitzwilliam-Darcy. Surely a sea captain with such a long name would find it inconvenient, and the thought put a smile on her face as she curtsied. How absurd to shout for Captain Fitzwilliam-Darcy while being fired upon by the French!

The captain bowed graciously. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, with a glance at Elizabeth. “I hope my arrival is not unwelcome.”

“Absurdity does not become you, cousin,” Mrs. Knightley said gaily. “You have made my table even, and now Miss Bennet may not feel left out.”

The captain looked at Elizabeth but said nothing. Bingley saw fit to speak instead. “I do not think Lizzy has ever felt left out in her life.”

Without thinking about it, Elizabeth stood a little straighter, but thankfully it was time to go to the table. She rather expected the captain to escort his cousin, so she was a little surprised when he offered his arm to her.

She could hardly refuse the man’s civility, so they walked to the dining room together. Elizabeth had grown used to the round table there, but it was a novel sight for the captain. “This is a curious thing, cousin,” he said. “Are we to be Arthur’s knights?”

“I imagine you would have the advantage over the rest of us should combat be required, Captain,” Elizabeth remarked.

“Then stay near me, madam, when we are boarded by pirates.”

Such gallantry was begging to be teased. “Why,” said she, “if we are boarded by pirates, I had much better run.”

“Lizzy,” Jane said, as though Elizabeth had forgot that ladies were not to run.

Mrs. Knightley, however, laughed. “Yes, if we are boarded by pirates, Miss Bennet and I shall bravely lead the retreat!”

That set most of the table laughing as the food was served. “I have taken a good look about the house, Emma,” the captain said, once the servants were dismissed. “Those windows on the front of the house let in a great deal of light, but I fear they will also make it vulnerable when we are set upon by pirates. We may have to escape over the garden wall.”

“And ruin those lovely roses?” Emma asked. “You must come up with a better plan.”

This set off a spirited discussion of the intrinsic value of said roses in comparison with their lives, led mostly by Mr. Churchill and Mrs. Knightley. Elizabeth participated occasionally, but before it was over, she noticed that whenever she addressed the captain, Mrs. Knightley was looking on the two of them with an approving smile. Having heard many little remarks to and from Mrs. Knightley about her love of matchmaking, she could only imagine what was going on in the woman’s head as she looked at Elizabeth and the captain. She would be civil, but if Mrs. Knightley attempted to arrange her life for her, she did not know what she would do.

Once the subjects of roses and pirates were exhausted, Elizabeth decided to turn to a more sober subject. “Captain, what are you to do now that the war with France is over?” she asked. “Are you in England long?”

“Yes, I am,” he said, with a conscious look about the room. “I have resigned my commission, in fact, and will be settling in England once more. With the war at an end, there will be many good men looking for commands, and I have no need of it to live comfortably now. So I will decide upon a place to live, Emma may choose a wife for me if she pleases, and all will be well.”

There were smiles and chuckles around the table at that, but Elizabeth did not miss the way Mrs. Knightley in particular smiled at her. She held in a sigh, hoping the final week of her stay in Weymouth went swiftly.

* * *

One of Emma’s predictions was bound to come to pass. With three married couples and two unmarried persons, the unmarried would be in each other’s company pretty often. Darcy could not say he minded. Miss Bennet was young, pretty, and exceedingly clever. He had spent more than half his life surrounded by men, and his notion of ladies, especially young and pretty ones, did not allow for such a bright mind. He was happy to be wrong. Miss Bennet was excellent company, and if the others were content to leave them to themselves, he would hardly complain.

They spoke of his life on board, places like Malta, Gibraltar, or the West Indies, even the suppressing of the slave trade. Lighter topics too filled their time together. Though he had not had too many opportunities to indulge in music, he argued strenuously for the superiority of German music, largely because of his sister’s love for it, while Miss Bennet argued her preference for Italian composers, because the language was easier for singing.

When the party walked about the town, it was not uncommon for them to outpace the rest. Emma gave Darcy a gentle scolding for it after the first time it happened. “I should hate to offend the Bingleys,” she explained. “They are such accommodating people that I doubt they would say anything to you, but I would not want them to blame Miss Bennet either.”

Darcy did not think Bingley had much power for scolding in him, but for Emma’s sake he tried not to let it happen every time they met. It gave him the opportunity to observe the others anyway. Mrs. Bingley was beautiful and serene, but seemed frustrated that she could not shake the cough that dogged her even in all this sea air. She was also very different from her sister, and Darcy sometimes wondered how one family had produced them both.

Mrs. Churchill, elegant and mild, first attracted his notice during the dinner party the evening he arrived. Her performance on the pianoforte was unparalleled. He had never heard such artistry on the instrument. Even Emma, who still thought rather well of herself, was quick to proclaim Mrs. Churchill a musical genius without superior. Perhaps most charming about Mrs. Churchill was that she knew her own skill and talent and was not ashamed of it. There was neither superciliousness nor false modesty about her. That in itself struck Darcy as a rare gift.

The men were an interesting group as well. Darcy met Knightley years ago on his visits to Hartfield, but the difference in their ages made any correct judgment on his character impossible at the time. He remembered feeling a good deal of surprise when Emma wrote that they were to marry. Emma’s declarations that she would never marry had always rung a little hollow—not in the least because his mother had, in her lifetime, often expressed a wish that he would marry either Emma or one of his Fitzwilliam cousins—but he was surprised when she married George Knightley. There was no other equal for her in Highbury, but it seemed to happen very abruptly.

“Will you tell me how this came about?” he asked her one morning when Knightley left them to their own conversation.

Emma blushed. “You will laugh at me.”

“Yes, probably.”

That got her to smile. “I thought I had lost him, and in the process of that, I realized that I did not actually have him, but I desperately wished I did. And against all reason, he was already in love with me.”

“You seem very happy, Emma, and I could not be happier for you,” he replied. “But if I must be honest, I had rather thought your interest lay in a different direction that year.”

“Oh!” she cried, embarrassed. “I wish sometimes that I never heard the name Frank Churchill, but I do assure you, he meant nothing to me even then.”

Darcy was glad, for he was sure a man like Frank Churchill would only have made Emma miserable.

Churchill was eager to please; so was Bingley. There was only enough determination between them for one man, and it was all Mr. Churchill’s. Darcy found himself frequently with Knightley, looking on the other two men with something between annoyance and amusement.

So too did Miss Bennet. Darcy wondered once, catching her diverted disapproval of her brother and his friend, if she was happy living with her brother and sister. He thought at times she was frustrated by parts of her life, but without a way to set a new course.

There was marriage, of course, but Darcy thought if she simply wanted to be a wife she could have accomplished it by now. If she wanted to marry a man she actually liked, he admired her all the more for it. Such things happened in books, but he was not at all sure if his new friend could count on that possibility.

* * *

Two days before Elizabeth and her brother and sister were to leave Weymouth, Jane was finally well enough for them to get a closer view of the sea, by going out in it.

Mrs. Churchill, it seemed, had some previous experience in a boating party which had not been entirely pleasant, but she was not forthcoming. Captain Darcy, seeing something of her distress, went over the hired sailboat twice and gave his personal assurances that the _Blue Bonnet_ was seaworthy. “She is perfectly safe, I assure you,” he said to Mrs. Churchill. “In truth, the only exception I take to her is her ridiculous name.”

Elizabeth expected Captain Darcy to take an active role in sailing the boat, but instead he joined her with the others. “Are you tired of sailing, sir?” she asked.

He gave her a smile, a real, full smile which rendered him so handsome she found herself holding her breath for a moment. “She is a little small for me, Miss Bennet.”

“No great challenge, then.”

“No, not at all. Besides, I have been tasked before with transporting one of my superiors. There is honor, I suppose, in being singled out, but mostly I wished the winds would blow a little harder and bring us to port a little sooner.”

Elizabeth studied him as closely as she could, squinting at him in the bright light. “Will you miss it?”

“I imagine I will,” he admitted freely. “For all that I have missed England, missed my family in particular, the navy was my life for a long time. In a way it is like leaving home once more. I believe you know that feeling.”

She nodded. “But I was able to take something of my old home with me,” she said, thinking of her father’s books, which he left to her.

“I will have memories enough, I think, even if I will miss that horizon,” he replied, pointing to the open water beyond the harbor. “Or the sight of a seasoned crew working the sails—” The boat suddenly lurched, and a spray of water came over the bow, splashing the captain and Mr. Knightley who sat furthest forward. “Or even that,” he said with some chagrin. “Are you well, Miss Bennet?”

“Perfectly,” she said, not bothering to contain her amusement. “You were an excellent shield, Captain.”

“I am glad to be of assistance,” he said with a mocking bow.

On the other side of the boat, Mr. Churchill was addressing his wife. “Do you know, Jane, I think this is the exact ship we were on that day,” he was saying. “The mast was just so, the bow shaped thus, and even the name is familiar. What a day that was!”

Darcy leaned a little closer to Elizabeth and spoke softly. “Does that gentleman know anything about sailing?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “He has spoken often of one day, when he was last in Weymouth, going on a boating party with his friends.”

“Good,” he replied. “Else I should have to believe there was a sailor in the world who did not know the difference between a ship and a boat.”

Elizabeth smiled up at him, then had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

The crew was busy wrangling the sails when Mr. Churchill suddenly rose. “Yes, it was this boat!” he said. “I remember, you were sitting exactly where Miss Bennet is, with Mr. and Mrs. Dixon and—”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost when one of the crew members hurried backwards and slammed into him. The sailor, being used to suddenly finding the floor in a different place than where he left it, got his bearings again soon enough, but Mr. Churchill, landlubber that he was, lost his balance entirely and found himself over the side of the boat before anyone could stop it.

Great cries of alarm went up from several in the party, but Captain Darcy only rose calmly and asked the crew for rope. His demeanor inspired immediate obedience, and once he had rope in hand he went to the other side.

Elizabeth, greatly curious, went to the other side as well, though she was careful to stay out of his way and hold the side securely. Mr. Churchill was just getting himself upright. “Help!” he screamed. “Someone help!”

“What do you think we are doing?” the captain called. “Stop thrashing! You’ll only sink faster!”

“I can’t swim!” Churchill wailed.

The captain threw the rope into the water with expert aim, and while Mr. Churchill fumbled with it, Darcy turned back to his party. “Knightley, a little assistance, if you please.”

Mr. Knightley got up to help immediately, as did one of the crew and Bingley. Together they got Mr. Churchill out of the water and back into the safety of the boat. But to Elizabeth’s surprise, when Mrs. Churchill got to his side, she was desperately trying not to laugh. “I have been a fool again, haven’t I?” he said, through chattering teeth. “And my hat is lost.”

Mrs. Churchill nodded, and then she could hold her laughter in no longer.

* * *

The week ended as it began, with a dinner hosted by the Knightleys. Darcy had determined it was time for him to move on from Weymouth. Emma extracted from him a solemn promise that he would come to Donwell no later than Christmas. He was happy to agree, but he wanted to see Pemberley and his brother and sister again.

Part of him was sorry to go, and if Miss Bennet were not leaving on the morrow as well, he might have extended his stay. He felt no embarrassment in admitting it. What had started as an incidental amusement was now a steady admiration. She was a warm-hearted young lady, clever, witty, and one of the handsomest women he had ever known. He had never know a woman like her and doubted he would ever find another.

After dinner that evening they sat together, as had become common, and he asked after the book in her hands. “Oh,” said she, “one of Byron’s. Mrs. Knightley had it here. I am not certain I like his work, but there are some very pretty poems in this.”

“Yes, I read that a few months ago, I believe.”

“Indeed?”

“You need not sound so surprised, Miss Bennet. A sailor may enjoy books, you know.”

She blushed. “I did not mean to imply you did not, Captain.”

He smiled at her. “My father was a great reader. At Pemberley he and his father before him built a library to rival any king’s. What I missed, almost more than my family, when I first went to sea, was the liberty to choose from hundreds of volumes.”

“Were you able to obtain books often?”

“I found a few like-minded souls, and we formed a sort of circulating library. Every man was expected to add something to it whenever possible. It was a great success, and I hope it continues for many years.”

“And what sort of books did you read?”

“Every sort. There was even a young lady’s conduct manual in the fleet at one time. Very entertaining, I assure you.”

Miss Bennet’s eyes went wide. “I believe you are the only person I have ever known who thought so.”

“It is, perhaps, more entertaining when there is no expectation of your ever following such absurd rules.” She looked mollified to hear him describe it thus, so he moved on. “Many of the books in our collection were novels. We had a fellow fond of poetry as well, so I have read Byron—including the one you have in hand.”

Miss Bennet looked down at the book wistfully. “My father left me his books,” she said. “The last he ever bought was Byron.”

They had treaded into deeper waters than Darcy had realized. “A great treasure, then,” he said, in a gentler tone.

She nodded, and the conversation lapsed. He wanted to divert her attention from the melancholy subject he had inadvertently led her to, so he asked about her plans for departing Weymouth and where she and her family would be going. “I fear I am at the mercy of my brother and sister,” she replied, raising her voice a little so the others could hear. “The sea does not seem to have given my sister the full recovery we all hoped for.”

She raised a brow, as though challenging him to defend the ocean which for so long had been his home, but he would only smile. “The sea is not a miracle worker, Miss Bennet,” he said. “My cousin would tell you to try Highbury. I do not think she has ever been ill, and she has lived there all her life.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Churchill. “Nothing healthier than Highbury’s air. Whenever my dear Jane is the least bit ill, I take her to Highbury directly.”

“I thought it was for the delights of our society,” Emma said archly.

“Why, yes, delightful, healthy society.”

They all laughed at that, before Knightley took the conversation in a more serious direction. “Mrs. Bingley, do you think a southern county might do you some good over the winter? I believe you said you were from Hertfordshire, not the north.”

“We were in London last winter, but it was not much better than Scarborough,” Mrs. Bingley said.

“Ah, but Highbury is far superior to London in that regard,” Knightley said. “There is a beautiful little estate, Glen Eyrie, only a mile from Donwell, which might do well for you. Plenty of countryside for walking and riding, and Mr. Churchill is right. There are few places in England with a healthier population, I am sure.”

“It sounds like an excellent neighborhood,” Mr. Bingley said. “Is there much sport to be had?”

While the conversation continued, Darcy sat back in his chair and watched Miss Bennet. She had turned to her book again, and he wondered what she was thinking about. In the lamp-light she was particularly alluring, dark hair glowing, complexion brilliant, features handsome. He wanted a glimpse of her eyes, so fine and expressive, but if she were to look at him he would be obliged to look away, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

He had liked her from the start and wished her well. He had to admit now that Elizabeth Bennet had caught his fancy more thoroughly than he anticipated. She would be happier in her own situation if she married a man who appreciated her clever mind as well as her great beauty. But it occurred to him that she would suit _him_ very well as a wife.

The thought brought him up short. What was he doing, thinking about _marrying_ a girl he had met only a week ago? To be sure, she had a great many charms, and he hoped it was not vanity which convinced him he could give her more than her life currently provided. But a week in a public place like Weymouth was hardly sufficient to know a lady’s character and know she was right for him. It was no longer a time of war. He would never go to sea again unless it was for his own pleasure. There was no need to rush into a decision which would bind him for the rest of his life. Even so, he wondered if he was letting something precious slip his grasp.

At the end of the evening, Mr. Bingley was nearly convinced to lease Glen Eyrie sight unseen. Only his wife’s gentle suggestion that they look at it on their way to London stopped him from writing to the agent directly. As the Bingleys and Miss Bennet took their leave from their new friends, exchanging many promises to write, Darcy was happy to know his acquaintance with Elizabeth Bennet was not at an end. If the winds were with him, he would see her again and know his own mind and heart.

* * *

“I saw the way you looked at her, Darcy,” Emma said when their guests were gone at last. “I may have tried to give up meddling in other people’s lives, but you, my dear cousin, are smitten.”

“I am not,” Darcy said, straightening up a little.

“Must you act like children?” Mr. Knightley said, though his sigh held a trace of amusement. “I thought we had done with such displays many years past.”

“I will say nothing more after this,” Emma said, “but Darcy, do remember that marriage and war are not very much alike.”

“And what would you know of that, Emma?” her husband said before her cousin could say anything.

For the first time in many months she wished Mr. Knightley would leave her in peace. “I mean that his survival does not depend upon his making this decision at once.”

Mr. Knightley came over and kissed Emma’s cheek. “Darcy, ignore any nonsense you hear, even from dear Emma.”

He left them before Emma could say anything. Darcy opened his mouth to speak, looking concerned, but Emma cut him off. “He wishes we were home again,” she said. “It is nothing more serious than that. He has not spoken with William Larkins in nearly a month, and he half-fears Donwell will not be standing when we return.”

“I did not know Knightley had anything of the ridiculous in him.”

“We all do, Darcy. I am sure even you do,” Emma replied. “Such as this little infatuation with Miss Bennet. She is a lovely young woman, but how many young women have you spent much time with?”

“Emma, I am not proposing marriage to her,” he said, although he was not looking at her and she wondered if that was telling. “I like her. I would not be sorry to meet her again.”

Emma was unconvinced, but she decided not to interrogate him further. “Then I hope her brother takes Glen Eyrie. And I hope you go to as many balls as you can manage while you are in Derbyshire. Dance with every girl in the county, and then come to Surrey to see how superior Miss Bennet really is.”

“That is a strange prescription for my happiness, Emma.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

He laughed. “That is the first sensible thing you have said all night.”

* * *

Excerpted, from Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Mrs. William Collins:

We leave Weymouth in the morning. It has been a most pleasant holiday, though Jane’s health is not so improved as we hoped. Our new acquaintances have recommended their own neighborhood. This strikes me as a little biased, but J is ready for any remedy. It will be better for her than London, in any case.

This last week has offered a variation on our theme here in Weymouth. Mrs. K’s cousin, a Cpt. Darcy, has joined us. He is fresh from war, newly retired, and perhaps the handsomest man I have ever seen. It really is unfair, for he is a celebrated captain, having taken many prizes (I am told), is well-read, and is absurdly good-looking besides. If a novelist created such a character, we would laugh at him forever.

To add to his implausible virtues, he seems a good-natured fellow too. He can be a little stately, a little pompous—if he were the elder son and had the honor of the estate, I suspect he would be insufferable—but being the younger, in possession of a good fortune won through valiant service, he is pleasing enough. But there! I have writ enough that you will accuse me of being in love, and I daresay I have had enough little smiling looks on that score from his cousin.

Indeed, Mrs. K is my only source of hesitation in this Highbury scheme. The estate and its neighborhood sound delightful, but one neighbor I could do without. Alas, alack!


	3. In which the Bingleys move to Highbury

The Bingleys took possession of Glen Eyrie at Michaelmas, which was as much an object of interest in Highbury’s environs as Mr. Bingley’s arrival had been in Meryton. The good people of Highbury were a little better off, for when they wanted news, they had sources of reliable information within their own neighborhood. When Mr. Knightley reported that Mrs. Bingley was coming with hopes of an improvement of health, there were many exclamations of sympathy for her. Mrs. Weston’s letters from her son-in-law were eagerly perused, referred to by all and sundry as “the Weymouth letters.” Emma repeated what she knew of Miss Bennet several times a week.

Their prior acquaintance made it imperative that the Knightleys be first to call on the Bingleys once they arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were pleased to see them, but then, Emma could not recall seeing them displeased by anything. At Glen Eyrie, they were introduced to the couple’s child, a little girl still on leading strings. She happily accompanied her aunt into the parlor and unhappily left with her nurse a few minutes later.

“The whole neighborhood has anxiously awaited your arrival,” Emma said. “The Churchills’ letters from Weymouth have been read now by at least half the town.”

“Yes, and the other half heard of them from their wives,” Knightley remarked.

“I will not allow you to say men are less curious than women, Mr. Knightley,” Emma said.

“Curious, yes. Nosy is how I would characterize this.”

Miss Bennet raised a brow. “Surely there is not so great a difference between the sexes, at least on this count. I have known any number of men entirely too interested in the affairs of others.”

Knightley only smiled.

“Well,” Emma said, “I do hope you find your health improving, Mrs. Bingley. I have not traveled a great deal, but Highbury is reckoned a very healthy and wholesome place.”

“Indeed,” said Knightley. “You will find some excellent paths for riding, and especially for walking.”

“I thought you might be happy here in that regard, Lizzy,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully. Miss Bennet looked up from her needlework and smiled.

Before too many minutes longer, the Knightleys rose to go. “We would not trespass on your time, not when I am sure you are still settling into your new home,” Emma said to Mrs. Bingley. “But will you join us for dinner at Donwell in two days’ time? Our brother and sister will be there, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Weston.”

With all in agreement, two evenings later the Bingleys and Miss Bennet arrived at Donwell Abbey, and were introduced to John and Isabella and the Westons. It was as pleasant an evening as Emma had hosted in quite some time, but when the ladies withdrew, she found herself allied with Miss Bennet. “Have you ever noticed how mothers tend to congregate?” she quietly asked of her guest.

Miss Bennet smiled. “Shall we discuss philosophy, then, to balance the room?”

“For that you must apply to Mrs. Weston,” Emma replied. “For all that she tried to inspire me to read more, I fear she had little success.”

“Mrs. Weston?”

“Yes, she was my governess before she married.”

“She seems an excellent woman.”

“She is. Perhaps someday I shall be a little more like her.”

“My parents employed no governess for us.”

“For five sisters?”

“It is shocking, I know. More shocking still, my mother was no slave to our education.”

Emma pressed her lips together briefly to suppress a laugh. “Oh, that sounds exactly like Lady Catherine.”

Miss Bennet was startled. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

“You know her?”

“My cousin had the living of Hunsford before he inherited Longbourn,” she explained. “He married my friend, and I visited them twice in Kent.”

“And had the privilege of dining at Rosings, I see,” Emma said with a smile. “I have never met her myself, but she is aunt to my Darcy cousins, on their mother’s side.”

“What a small world.”

“Indeed. How did you find Lady Catherine? I confess, I have always wanted to hear an opinion of her from someone who is not her nephew.”

“And not a potential husband for her daughter,” Miss Bennet surmised, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

This time Emma did not attempt to contain her laughter.

Long before they had exhausted the subject of Lady Catherine, the gentlemen joined them. Emma did not speak with Miss Bennet again until shaking her hand at the door. Even so, it was enough for Mr. Knightley to detect some difference in the interaction between the two ladies, for it had been a long time since Emma enjoyed herself so well in conversation. “You did not care for Miss Bennet in Weymouth, Emma,” Knightley said, when they were retired for the evening. “Your table was uneven again tonight, so what has changed?”

“A lady must be allowed some mysteries,” she replied, giving him a kiss to prevent his asking again.

Knightley was right, of course, as he usually was. Emma had not found Miss Bennet particularly easy to become acquainted with, but during the course of their conversation, she had a sudden flash of understanding. Miss Bennet was alone, even with her brother and sister. Emma had felt that pinch of stifling, but she had always had Mr. Knightley and Mrs. Weston to keep her occupied and challenged, even when occupation and challenge were not entirely wanted. The Bingleys were nothing but amiable, and Emma could well imagine the frustration of living with two people so determined to think well of everything and live in perfect harmony. She was not so disposed, and she suspected Miss Bennet, being so clever and lively, was not so disposed either.

She had sworn off matchmaking years ago, but she remembered Miss Bennet walking through Weymouth with Captain Darcy. Perhaps she might invite her cousin to come a little earlier than planned—she would meddle no further—and perhaps matters might take their own course.

* * *

Over the course of the last year and a half, Elizabeth had walked into a strange church enough times to find amusement in how all parishes were the same. Jane hated the stares in new places, but to Elizabeth, there was something comforting in knowing people were predictable. Heads turned as the trio entered the church and their behavior was closely monitored throughout the service. Afterward there was a polite but persistent press of parishioners hoping to greet them.

Mrs. Knightley performed the most important service, introducing them to the Rev. Mr. Averill. Mr. Averill was handsome and well-spoken, and the inattention of his congregation that morning was likely only because of the presence of the new inhabitants of Glen Eyrie. In their brief conversation outside the church, he was civil and gracious. Elizabeth, having some experience with a more ridiculous species of clergyman, was happy to find him so, and she was neither surprised nor displeased when her sister invited him for dinner along with the Knightleys later that week.

Jane kept an excellent table and Charles was one of the better hosts Elizabeth had known, so she anticipated a pleasant evening. The degree of her enjoyment, however, was entirely beyond her foresight. Conversation at the table was dominated by three new volumes of poetry, works by Wordsworth, Byron, and Shelley. Mr. Averill was a greater lover of poetry than any man Elizabeth had ever met before, and quoted the modern masters with aplomb. The conversation spilled into the drawing room when the gentlemen joined the ladies, though their arrival was later than Elizabeth expected. “We took the liberty of visiting your library, Lizzy,” Charles said, holding up the volumes they had been discussing.

“Is it your library, Miss Bennet?” Mr. Knightley asked.

“My father was a great reader,” she replied. “He left me his books.”

“Lizzy was generous enough to let my sisters and me take from the collection what we liked,” Jane put in, “but even considering that, she has a great many books.”

“More than I could get through in a lifetime,” Charles said. “I do not know how my father-in-law read so many!”

“Papa did not just read them either.” Elizabeth smiled wistfully, her needle pausing over her tambour. “Look at his copy of Plato sometime. He has marked every inch, and read it so many times the binding fell apart. Another man might have replaced the book entirely, but he made a rare visit to London to have it rebound, with blank pages inserted at the end so he could make further notes.”

“A remarkable collection, then,” said Mr. Averill.

“Very much, and a precious one.”

“Captain Darcy would be enthralled by it, I suspect,” Knightley remarked.

Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Knightley, who was smiling. Mr. Averill, however, did not know who Knightley spoke of, which bore explanation. “My wife’s cousin,” Knightley informed him. “He joined us in Weymouth this summer, after we met Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and Miss Bennet.”

“I wonder how many reading men there are in the navy,” the vicar said.

“Well, there may not be a great many,” Mrs. Knightley acknowledged, “but my cousin was a Darcy long before he was a navy man.”

“You do not mean the Darcys of Starmore, do you, Mrs. Knightley?” Averill suddenly asked, his posture more alert than a moment before.

She shook her head. “No, the Pemberley Darcys. My mother grew up there. The current Mr. Darcy and the captain are her brother’s sons. The Starmore Darcys are more distant cousins.”

“I see,” Averill replied. “I knew two of the Starmore Darcys at Cambridge. Excellent men. They always said they had an uncle whose library could hold a reading man captive for a thousand years. I imagine your cousins are keeping that library well-stocked.”

After a little more discussion of books, Jane turned the conversation back. “Mrs. Knightley, have you heard from your cousin of late? I hope he is well.”

“Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Knightley replied. “I had a letter from him a few days ago. He is very well, and was hopeful that Highbury’s air would be beneficial to you, Mrs. Bingley.”

“We hope to see him here before the year is out, in fact,” Knightley added.

Elizabeth could not help but feel a certain interest in this news. In Weymouth she liked the captain better than his cousin. She also remembered the way Mrs. Knightley smiled in approval at Elizabeth and Captain Darcy, though, and dreaded to know what the mistress of Donwell Abbey had in mind.

It was not long before Jane asked Mrs. Knightley to play, and Elizabeth would follow. Mr. Averill kindly offered to turn pages, to which she smiled. “I fear I am not a brilliant musician, sir.”

“All the better,” he replied. “Did you ever hear Mrs. Churchill play while you were with her in Weymouth? A true master, to be sure, but so far beyond the ordinary that one feels terribly mortal in comparison.”

Elizabeth laughed merrily. “What an apt way to describe her, sir.” She looked down at the music in her hands and said, “Which do you prefer, French or Italian?”

“English, ma’am, but if I may not have it, French, _s’il vous plaît_.”

“As you wish.”

When the evening concluded and the guests were gone, Jane accompanied Elizabeth to her chambers. “Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzy?”

“Very much. I have not heard so much talk of poetry in ages.”

“Charles and I are not great readers, I know,” Jane replied. “I am glad you enjoyed yourself. What think you of Mr. Averill?”

“He will be a pleasant acquaintance while we are here.”

Though she said nothing more, Jane smiled.

It was not for some hours hence that Elizabeth wondered if she ought to dread what the mistress of Glen Eyrie had in mind.

* * *

Emma, driving her phaeton homeward on a cool morning, was met by her husband walking abroad. “Emma, my dear,” said Mr. Knightley, as he joined her in the seat and took the reins. “How did you find our friends at Randalls?”

“They are very well,” she replied. “Little Anna is just as spoiled as you always predicted she would be.”

“Did I? Then I shall venture to make further predictions about the children in the area.”

“You will have another opportunity soon.” At his sharp, curious look, Emma turned away. “At Randalls, that is.”

Knightley was only quiet a moment longer than usual, but she felt the weight of his silence, along with the hush of disappointed hopes when he spoke. “I see.”

Emma felt his hesitation more than he could have possibly intended. This was not a subject they had raised often, for Emma was much happier not to think about it at all. But try as she might to banish the notion, it was difficult to evade entirely. With the whole countryside now married, everyone was turning to growing families. Mrs. Elton and her boys, Isabella and her brood, Mrs. Weston and Anna and this new little one to come—even Mrs. Robert Martin, Harriet Smith as was, expected her second child before much longer. Then there was Emma, happy in her home with her husband, but without that which naturally followed.

She knew people were beginning to talk, though perhaps she was only imagining it. She had hoped a month of sea air would be the remedy, but it was time to relinquish that hope as well. Perhaps it was not meant to be. Perhaps she was only meant to dote upon her nieces and nephews, and keep Donwell Abbey in order for Henry. But she was not yet willing to make that concession.

“Well, I am very happy for them,” Knightley said after a minute longer, though he was not quite himself yet. “Randalls ought to be full of little ones.”

“And shouldn’t Donwell?” Emma cried, before she could stop herself.

“Emma,” he said, almost helplessly, “Emma, my love.”

“I am sorry,” she said, quickly trying to compose herself. “I am sorry. It is just—”

“Difficult,” he finished. “How often have I looked at John and Isabella—my brother and your sister—and wondered.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, resting her head against his shoulder, “but I don’t know what to do.”

“Emma, look at me.” She sat up straight and found him looking at her intently. “Emma, I would tell you we do not know what the future holds, and whatever happens is meant to be, but I cannot. I know, somehow, you and I will see our children at Donwell. I will not believe otherwise. You are not meant for despair. Let us have hope.”

Somewhat against her will, she nodded, then laid her head on his shoulder once more. “I think I like your prognostications, Mr. Knightley.”

“Yes, spoiled children all over the neighborhood,” he said, sounding more like himself. “I am sure you are eager to see my predictions come to pass.”

To her own surprise, Emma laughed.

“Well, our new neighbors have been in Highbury almost a fortnight,” Knightley said, turning their conversation far away from their troubles. “Have you amended your opinion of them?”

“Was amendment necessary?” Emma asked. “They are charming neighbors. Mrs. Bingley is a great beauty, and Mr. Bingley is exactly the sort of amiable gentleman whose company I always enjoy.” When her husband gave her a skeptical look, she added, “Company, not companionship.”

His smile in response was fond though exasperated, comfortingly familiar. “What of Miss Bennet, then?”

“She does not like me.”

Knightley barked out a laugh. “Do not hide behind such an idea, my dear. When has she been anything but civil?”

“A woman knows when she is disliked, Mr. Knightley, and you shall not pretend to know better than me in this case.”

“What utter nonsense. You do not like her, and seek an excuse for it.” 

“Did you not see how uncomfortable she was when I mentioned Darcy the other night?”

“Perhaps she thinks you have a scheme in mind regarding herself and your cousin.”

“That is entirely unfair. I gave up matchmaking years ago.” Knightley gave a little sigh, and Emma made a face at him while he pulled into the stable. “However did you come to such an idea?”

He laughed and helped her down. “I saw her library.”

Emma had to smile. “His first letter from Pemberley did read rather like he had found his long-lost love.”

Knightley drew her arm to his as they walked back into the sunshine. “Yes, his first letter. And second. And third.”

Leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment, she said, “I really must ask him to come before Christmas.”

“Emma,” he said, and sighed. “All will be well.”

She knew he was not speaking of Darcy or Miss Bennet, but she left its true subject unspoken. “Well, if the master of Donwell Abbey declares it…”

He grumbled, and she laughed.

* * *

After living for some time either in Scarborough or in town, Elizabeth was relieved to be in the country again. Highbury and Donwell parishes both boasted excellent paths for walking; Highbury, being almost a town in size if yet a village in character, always had something of interest when she passed through. But as often as busy Highbury drew her in its direction, quiet Donwell tempted her in its way. The woods were full of pleasant paths, and when solitude was wanting, there was no better place to retreat.

On a fair morning, she set out on one of the Donwell paths so she could read two letters which had just arrived. One was from her old friend Mrs. Collins, and the other from her sister Catherine, now Mrs. Hamlin. Both missives were cheerful, and full of gossipy news. Both also included invitations for long visits in the next year; Elizabeth hoped she would not be forced to choose between them.

She normally turned back from this path where it intersected the vicarage lane. On this morning, there was a curricle turning into the lane, and she waited, intending to greet its driver. She was not surprised to see Mr. Averill tip his hat, but he stopped the horses entirely. “Miss Bennet,” said he, “good morning to you.”

Elizabeth curtsied. “Good morning, sir.”

“I trust all is well at Glen Eyrie?”

“Yes, of course. I had letters to read,” she replied, holding them up. “I was about to turn back.”

“There is a shorter route back from here, if you do not mind a stream to cross. I would be happy to show it to you,” he offered.

“You are very kind.”

In a few minutes Mr. Averill had driven his curricle around to the other side of the vicarage and returned on foot. “This way, if you please,” he said, gesturing to the garden walk behind the house.

Instead of passing through the woods, this path led around the trees, near Donwell’s pasture land. Along the way, the vicar made a little conversation. “I hope your letters brought no ill tidings.”

“Oh, no, or at least nothing very bad,” Elizabeth replied. “One of my sisters has a little boy who has just started talking. He repeats everything his father says, which was somewhat embarrassing when some ladies called for tea.”

Mr. Averill smiled. “I understood from Mrs. Bingley that you have a number of sisters.”

“Yes, Jane and I are the eldest of five sisters.”

“Five sisters! I thought the Lord had overburdened me with three.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Have you any brothers?”

“Yes, an elder, who inherited the guardianship of my sisters.”

“Then perhaps he is the one overburdened by the Lord.”

Mr. Averill coughed, sounding suspiciously like he was covering a laugh.

They had come to the stream, and he crossed over with the aid of some convenient stepping stones. As he offered his hand across the gap to help her follow him, he said, “I would not attempt this route after a storm, but on a day like this, it will save you half a mile.”

They were coming upon another road, which Elizabeth recognized as the low road into Highbury. She would have parted from her companion, but the approach of a carriage halted them. A woman, beautiful but severe, was driving alone, and Mr. Averill bowed to her. “Mrs. Elton, good morning!” he called.

The woman came to a stop, with some seeming reluctance. “Good morning, Mr. Averill,” she said curtly, with a sharp look at Elizabeth.

“Ah, Mrs. Elton, do you know Miss Bennet?” he asked. “Her brother and sister have lately taken possession of Glen Eyrie. Miss Bennet, Mrs. Elton. Her husband is the vicar of Highbury.”

“No, I do not,” said Mrs. Elton. “Highbury keeps us quite busy, you know. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet.”

“Likewise,” Elizabeth replied, with a curtsey.

“Well, I was only showing Miss Bennet the near way from Donwell Abbey back to Glen Eyrie, and now I believe I have completed my commission,” Mr. Averill said. “I would not keep either of you from your business.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Elton said. “I really must be going. Good day to you.”

And with that she was off. Mr. Averill soon took his leave as well, letting Elizabeth wander back to Glen Eyrie for breakfast by herself. It had been a curious morning, and little did she know it would be far stranger before the morning was out.

After breakfast, Charles had letters of business to write and Jane went to rest, so Elizabeth took her niece from the care of her nurse and went to play with her in the garden. Someone years ago had planted a small labyrinth behind the house, and its only use now was as a place for Birdie to play.

Almost an hour passed before Elizabeth brought Birdie back to the house. To her surprise, Jane was standing in the corridor. “Mamma!” Birdie cried, and ran to her mother’s arms.

Elizabeth did not miss the disapproval on her sister’s face. “Jane, is something the matter?”

“Nurse Lane did not know where you were.”

She managed to restrain herself from sighing. “I told her I was taking my niece for a walk.”

Jane hefted Birdie around to her other side and looked to be on the verge of saying something, but the sound of a carriage outside the house stopped her. A maid was pressed into service to take the now-struggling child to the nursery, while Elizabeth took a moment to remove her bonnet and gloves and see to her hair. Then she followed her sister into the morning room and waited for the housekeeper to announce their guests.

To her surprise, it was the woman she had encountered on her way back before breakfast, accompanied by a gentleman this time. The housekeeper announced them as Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and as soon as the door was shut, the lady said, “Ah, Miss Bennet, a pleasure to see you again so soon.”

Jane frowned at Elizabeth, who took it upon herself to make the introduction. “Mrs. Elton, allow me to introduce my sister, Mrs. Bingley.”

“And allow me to introduce my _caro sposo_ , Mr. Elton, the vicar of Highbury,” Mrs. Elton said. Jane bade everyone sit, and as soon as all had taken their places, Mrs. Elton continued, “After meeting your charming sister with Mr. Averill this morning, I simply insisted that Mr. E bring me to meet the new tenants of Glen Eyrie. We are not often in this way, but I hope our paths will cross often. I can tell, Mrs. Bingley, that you and I will be famous friends.”

Jane, for all her prized serenity, could say nothing in response, forcing Elizabeth to the fore. “We are very glad to meet our neighbors,” she began, but Mrs. Elton required very little encouragement to continue.

“How often have I said to Mr. E, what a shame this grand old house should stand empty! Sheltered just so in the woods, with so much beauty around it, and situated exactly between Highbury and Donwell—I confess to a little envy, for I think it quite the nicest house in the neighborhood. But I shall be content merely to visit you here, and perhaps now and then to sketch it. I do not profess a great talent in that regard, though my friends have often said my little attempts at landscapes are not unpleasing.”

It was all Elizabeth could do to keep from laughing. She rather hoped they did not meet Mrs. Elton often, but this was a delight to match Mr. Collins in absurdity.

For a quarter of an hour they listened to Mrs. Elton rattle on the neighborhood and its environs and her own former home, Bath—“Why, have you tried Bath, Mrs. Bingley? It would cure your delicate health in but a week or two!”—and her sister and brother, who, Elizabeth deduced, were long expected in Highbury but had yet to visit. To the relief of the ladies of the house, Mrs. Elton did not extend the visit past the fashionably dictated, and after fifteen minutes were passed, they had peace once again.

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. “We live in interesting times, Jane.”

Jane looked alarmed herself. “I do not believe she allowed her husband to speak at all.”

* * *

Excerpted, from Mrs. Erasmus Marchand to Miss Elizabeth Bennet:

We are so pleased to know you and our brother and sister are settled in Highbury. Mr. Marchand says Surrey is one of the most beautiful of all counties. You must write of what you see—if you can capture its likeness in a sketch, so much the better.

The weather continues dreary here. It is very good for staying indoors. Mr. Marchand tells me the summer was exceedingly bleak all over England and Scotland too. He is assisting our neighbor Mr. Mackenzie in a survey of weather in Great Britain, and they have asked me to organize their notes for them. It is all very interesting work, and very instructive of the workings of the natural world.

The work is so busy that we neither of us have much time to write, but it seems a long time since you forwarded a letter from our sister Bergamot. Mr. Marchand says we have not heard from her in two months. We are both very interested in her life in the East. Pray, send word as soon as you hear from her. The last letter we had through you came in July.


	4. In which there is idle talk

The chief advantage to living in Donwell parish, to Emma’s mind, was that she did not often cross paths with Mrs. Elton. Sadly, however, the vicar’s wife had a knack for calling on Isabella or Mrs. Weston when Emma was spending a morning with them. But at least during one of her fashionable interruptions, she shared vital news: she had met Mrs. Bingley and Miss Bennet.

“Oh, Mrs. Bingley!” cried she, in Isabella’s sitting room. “I rave about Mrs. Bingley. Such elegance, such beauty! I dare say you agree with me, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma was sipping her tea at that moment, but she knew an actual response was unnecessary. Mrs. Elton continued, “I thought I heard Mrs. Bingley was rather a penniless bride, but I suppose great beauties can afford to be poor. Her husband is an amiable man, I gather. I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, but after meeting her I believe it to be so. Dear Mrs. Knightley, I do believe it is our duty as their neighbors to be sure Mrs. Bingley feels very much a part of the neighborhood.”

“I assure you,” Emma said, “I have heard her speak with satisfaction of the house and its surroundings.”

“Satisfaction! What a tepid word. Mrs. Knightley, I am shocked you would settle for so little. Do we not want them to feel at home?”

Isabella, as was her wont, chose that moment to intervene gently. “Mrs. Elton, did you happen to meet Mrs. Bingley’s sister, Miss Bennet?”

Mrs. Elton’s reaction was instant, and fascinating. She set her teacup aside gently and gathered herself, ensuring that she had the attention of the room. “Yes, I did,” she said at length. “I met her yesterday. She was out walking in the morning with Mr. Averill.”

Such was not so shocking to Emma as Mrs. Elton clearly wished. She had been to Glen Eyrie often enough to see the vicar of Donwell with Miss Bennet. Mr. Averill was pleasant and intelligent and charming, traits which made him a frequent guest at the Abbey. Emma was also sensible of some wishes on Mrs. Bingley’s part for a match between him and her sister. But whatever Mrs. Elton tried to insinuate, there was nothing improper about the pair walking through the country. “Mr. Averill is quite gentlemanly,” Emma said, with delicacy. “And Miss Bennet is a great walker. Perhaps he was showing her the near way from the vicarage back to Glen Eyrie.”

“Now that you mention it,” Mrs. Elton replied, sounding much like a child caught in a falsehood, “Mr. Averill did mention something about—yes, I believe you must be right. I am glad you mentioned it. I should hate to think ill of one of our neighbors.”

“Or a man of God,” Isabella suggested.

“Oh, dear me, no! You know I have the utmost respect for men of the cloth. Before I met my dear, dear _caro sposo_ , I never imagined myself as mistress of a vicarage, but I have found it amply…”

“Rewarding?” Emma prompted, with only a small amount of mischief in her voice.

“Yes, rewarding,” said Mrs. Elton, with rather too much cheer. “Well, ladies, I must be off. I have so much business to attend today. We cannot all lounge about all day, can we?”

The sisters were all smiles as Mrs. Elton took her leave, but when that lady was gone, Emma scowled. Mrs. Elton’s clumsy attempt to smear Miss Bennet’s reputation did not bode well, and not even Isabella’s gentle remonstrance could dislodge her from her thoughts.

* * *

One would be pardoned for imagining that Mrs. John Knightley’s hint had the desired effect, and curbed Mrs. Elton’s taste for gossip in this instance.

One would also be pardoned for imagining that nothing at all could curb Mrs. Elton’s taste for gossip.

Gossip flitted in and out of the houses of Highbury like a breeze through open windows. Fortunately for Elizabeth, she and her sister had been in the neighborhood exactly long enough to establish a reputation strong enough to cast doubt on such rumors. But the idea of a budding romance between the lovely Miss Bennet and the charming Mr. Averill was captivating to many. 

In fairness to the ladies of Highbury, Elizabeth herself gave some thought to the idea. There was an appeal to it. She liked Highbury and Donwell in equal measure, as much as she had liked any place since her departure from Hertfordshire. Mr. Averill had an excellent living and was well situated for the prospect of marriage. He spoke with great fondness of his family. Elizabeth had seen for herself his kind care of his parishioners. 

She could well enough imagine herself the wife of a clergyman—a sensible one, at any rate—living happily with vicarage responsibilities along with family duties. With Mr. Averill she had even tried out her imagination against the prospect of his making an interest known. Boys at a desk learning Latin, girls at an easel to paint, a housekeeper determined to have the vicarage always reflect the best of the family, a cook to spoil the children with too many sweets. Elizabeth had little doubt that Mr. Averill himself would make a good husband, kind and intelligent as he was. She was aware, too, that the match was becoming a fond wish of Jane’s, though her ways were quieter than their mother’s would have been. And Elizabeth knew Mr. Averill enjoyed their conversation as much as she did, and she would never want for companionship. 

But as much as she liked him, truly, it was not enough. 

She knew herself to be more romantic than she liked to admit, and in this instance it was a cause of vexation whenever she considered it. Had she a right to refuse a good and honorable man whom she actually liked? Living with Jane and Charles was leaving her unsatisfied, so what was she thinking, ruling out such a prospect because of some ill-defined lack of feeling? It was absurd. The rational part of her mind rejected it as nonsense. Yet she could not convince herself that it was something she ought to want. 

Sometimes she exasperated even herself. 

But there was no point in worrying herself overmuch about it. Mr. Averill remained silent, and Elizabeth tried to rein in her yearning for the elusive _something_ she could not name.

* * *

Following Mrs. Elton’s visit to Hartfield, Emma spent some time considering her best course of action. She was not too concerned about Miss Bennet’s reputation, but she did wonder if Mrs. Elton would try to inveigle her way into the good graces of the Glen Eyrie ladies. Once before Emma had let a worthy woman be plagued by that lady. She was not inclined to let it happen again.

There was never a shortage of vicarage business, so Emma asked Miss Bennet after church to join her the following day. Miss Bennet seemed taken aback by the offer but showed no reluctance to join her. Emma fetched her the next morning in her phaeton, and for several minutes Miss Bennet asked questions about the needs of the neighborhood and what she and her sister could do.

She proved indispensable at the Davidson house, where she kept the little ones’ attention while Emma spoke with their mother. The children were sorry to see Miss Bennet go, and Emma said as much to her as they returned to the phaeton. “Oh,” said she, “between my little cousins in town and my nieces and nephews, I have spent a great deal of these past few years with children. They are a great pleasure at that age, when every experience is new.”

“My sister lived in Brunswick Square for many years. I wonder if she knows your family in town.”

“I doubt it. My uncle is in trade.”

It was spoken without shame or defiance, so Emma let the subject drop. “Do you always stay with Mrs. Bingley, then?”

“Chiefly, yes. I spend a little time every year with at least one of my other sisters. There is little point in being the spinster aunt if I cannot spoil my sisters’ children from time to time.”

Emma smiled, for she had once thought the same path was before her. Even now, with no children, she was deeply fond of spoiling her nieces and nephews. “But surely you would like a home of your own,” she said. “If nothing else, I should think you would like to have a permanent house for your father’s excellent library.”

“I daresay I would,” Miss Bennet replied, sounding a little surprised. “I suppose if my brother Bingley would purchase a house, it would solve the problem.”

“But?”

“Oh, he is in no hurry to make a purchase,” she said airily. “He and my sister are both vastly pleased with every place they have lived and every neighbor they have had. When everything is pleasing, decisions can be difficult to make.”

“I suppose that is true,” Emma replied. “Of course, it is possible to be too discerning as well.”

“So my mother often said. I am not sure she ever forgave me for turning down my first proposal of marriage. It is just as well that she never knew of the second.”

This was irresistible. “Were they very great matches?”

“The first was the heir to my father’s estate, and as great a fool as I have ever met,” Miss Bennet said, “and the second…” She blew out a long breath rather than finish her thought.

“Oh dear.”

“Yes. Happily, three days later we left for Scarborough and I have never seen him again.”

Emma wondered if there had been some scandal attached, but of course there was no delicate way of ascertaining that information. “Then your brother’s habits were useful.”

“Indeed.”

“I do sympathize on that point. I only had one unwanted suitor, but he had the good sense to take himself off shortly after I refused him. When next I saw him, he was engaged to someone else. I have never had the displeasure of being alone in his presence again.”

“Very fortunate,” Miss Bennet replied, though she was frowning, as if trying to imagine who that suitor might be.

“You have met him and his wife very lately, I understand,” Emma hinted.

“Oh!” Miss Bennet cried; then—“ _Oh_. Oh dear.”

Emma laughed a little, at herself as much as anything else. “Well said, Miss Bennet.” They had reached the phaeton by then, and when they were settled in it and moving once again, Emma said, “So no great scandal or lost love, then?”

“Not at all,” Miss Bennet replied, smiling sweetly. “No tragic loss, no jilt, no forbidden match; only a ridiculous man who would not understand ‘no,’ and a rather dull man whose name I cannot recall half the time.”

Emma smiled. “A shame. I daresay you are ready for a home of your own, but not at the cost of a ridiculous husband or a dull one.” With that she turned the conversation to other subjects, but she had the answer she sought. There was nothing that would preclude a man from her mother’s fine family from addressing Elizabeth Bennet.

* * *

Elizabeth, it must be confessed, took something very different away from her morning with Mrs. Knightley. “Insufferable busybody,” she muttered in the privacy of her room. “As bad as Lady Catherine—or worse, for _she_ never sought to find me a husband!”

She spent the next two hours answering her correspondence and trying to put the matter out of her mind, but with little success. An hour of her sister’s company did not offer enough solace either, so Elizabeth finally took herself out of doors. The woods around Glen Eyrie and Donwell were among the finest she had ever seen, and if anything could soothe her battered pride, it was a little time alone in those paths.

Mrs. Knightley was as meddlesome a creature as any Elizabeth had met, but a mile away from Glen Eyrie, she was able to admit that Mrs. Knightley’s words would not nettle so much if they did not strike at some truth. Elizabeth was lonely and frustrated and ready for something else. Years ago Mr. Collins had told her outright that her inheritance being so small would drive off any other gentleman who might be interested in her. At the time she had dismissed it as nonsense, but just as an old gown was sure to be fashionable again given enough time, and even a broken clock was correct twice in a day, perhaps Mr. Collins had been right. Perhaps she was only destined for two marriage proposals, and she had squandered all her opportunities.

But at the same time, she disdained pity from her neighbor, and certainly did not care for help from a woman who seemed to view matchmaking the way a child played with dolls. She wanted to make her own decisions and live a life that meant more than evening parties and dances and rote correspondence.

She had come to the boundary of Hartfield, and she leaned back against the fence and sighed. A moment later a man’s greeting startled her out of composure. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Averill, from the other side of the fence. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Do not trouble yourself, sir,” she replied, recovering her wits. “It is nothing.”

“Still, I ought to be better at announcing myself.”

He climbed over the stile and offered a courteous bow. Elizabeth laughed as she curtsied in return. “I do not often expect to see you in Highbury, Mr. Averill,” she said.

“Mr. Elton and I were discussing our plans for the next few months. He will be in London in two weeks, and I shall speak in Highbury in his place,” Mr. Averill explained. “He and Mr. Weir in Kingston and I usually cover each other’s absences.”

“I see,” Elizabeth replied.

“And you? Were you going to the post office in Highbury?”

“No, our letters were collected this morning.”

“Of course.” Mr. Averill paused, frowning. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but you seem a little out of sorts.”

At another moment in her life she might have denied it, but she was not in the mood for even a small deception now. “I suppose I am. I am only a little put out at some… matters beyond my control. But I shall be myself again soon enough.”

“Is there any counsel I may offer?” he asked. “It may not be a spiritual matter, but I hope that we are friends.”

Elizabeth met his gaze in a little surprise. She had but rarely heard a gentleman offer friendship to a lady without an expectation of more, but Mr. Averill’s countenance was honest and open, as ever. Later, when she had time to think it over, she would acknowledge something like relief, for she had a terrible feeling that if a good man were to make her an offer of marriage, she would take it merely to escape her current situation, without regard to the feelings of either him or herself.

But for now, she only had gratitude for the concern of a friend. “You are very kind. Right now I must muddle through on my own, but do not think I do not value your friendship, Mr. Averill.”

There was a moment of awkwardness before Mr. Averill cleared his throat. “Well, may I walk with you if you are returning home?”

“I thank you, yes.”

They talked over his sermon from the previous morning until they reached the lane of Glen Eyrie. Elizabeth returned to the house alone, while he continued on to the vicarage. When she entered her sister’s sitting room, she found her little niece struggling with Jane. Upon seeing her, Birdie ran and clung to Elizabeth’s skirts. “She has been fractious all day,” Jane said. “Where have you been, Lizzy?”

“Walking, and in a fractious mood myself,” Elizabeth replied, lifting Birdie up. “But all will be better, won’t it, sweetheart?”

“I saw Mr. Averill walking back with you. Would he not come in?”

Elizabeth shot her a look, and Jane subsided. Elizabeth could only hope that the question would not linger.

* * *

Mrs. Robert Martin was looking well when Emma called on her, the day after her excursion with Miss Bennet. Her figure was as plump and pleasing as ever, and there was a further glow of happiness about her as she set about arranging for the birth of her second child. Abbey Mill Farm was a little quieter now; Elizabeth Martin had married, and the elder Mrs. Martin was on a long visit with her daughter and son-in-law. She had taken her grandchild with her. “But they will be back next week,” Harriet said, with her perennial cheer. “Little Robert will be sorry to have missed you.”

“It will not be long before I come again,” Emma replied, “and then I will see both your children.”

She left Harriet happily sorting through the little garments and things Emma had brought for the new baby. It left her feeling strangely hollow as she walked back home. Harriet was so happy as a farmer’s wife, but Emma knew that was not the source of her happiness. She was happy as Robert Martin’s wife. Emma was a little ashamed to think she had ever tried to deprive Harriet of this, let alone done so under the guise of friendship.

Wednesday morning brought a note from Randalls to Donwell, and Emma set off shortly after breakfast to attend her old friend. Mrs. Weston had news from the Churchills. “They will not be coming for Christmas after all,” she said. “Frank’s uncle is in ill health, you know, and they are coming to London so that he may consult a physician. Jane says they do not expect him to live much longer, poor man.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” Emma replied.

“But there is some good news. They are expecting a child. ‘At last,’ as Mr. Weston put it. Here we are with a little one underfoot and another coming, and he cannot wait for grandchildren!”

The news shook Emma more than she cared to admit. She tried to smile and express some happiness, but her friend saw through the attempt. “Emma, what is the matter?”

“Oh, it is nothing,” Emma said, but confoundedly she found her voice choked and tears imminent.

“Emma,” Mrs. Weston said, in some shock. She came and joined Emma, embracing her as she had ten years ago or more. “Emma, my dear.”

They stayed thus for some minutes, as Emma fought to control herself again. “Are you quite sure you are well?” Mrs. Weston finally asked.

“Of course,” she murmured, sitting up. “I am always well.”

“But it is not like you to weep. Emma, I must surmise that you are upset by this news that Frank and Jane are to have a child.”

“I am happy for them, truly—”

“But unhappy for yourself. It is not selfish to want this, my dear. I remember you speaking of having children with some anticipation when you were first married.”

“While my father lived, it seemed a blessing that the time was deferred.”

“I know. Mr. Woodhouse was always anxious over your sister, but to have you under his roof and carrying a child would have been far more difficult for him.”

Emma nodded, relieved that Mrs. Weston understood, as usual. “Everyone around me seems so happy with their children, and I…”

Mrs. Weston stroked Emma’s hair, and Emma leaned into the caress, as of old. “What does Mr. Knightley say?”

“Oh! He is sensible as usual,” Emma replied. Then she turned thoughtful. “But perhaps he is not. He thinks there is reason enough for hope.”

“I think there is reason to hope _now_ , Emma.”

It took Emma a moment to understand what Mrs. Weston was saying. “Oh, Mrs. Weston,” she said, a little breathless. “A little weeping is not cause to think…”

“It is reason to wonder,” Mrs. Weston replied. “It is reason to be alert to other signs. It is reason to hope.”

It was all too much for Emma to take in. She left Randalls soon after, with a promise to call again when she was feeling better. Once she was home again, she wandered through the new garden she had just had planted a few months earlier until she was wearied of walking and sat on the bench in the middle of it. Her life had been so uncomplicated once, and so easily arranged. The year or two before her father’s death had taught her how little control she really had in the lives of others, but to have so little control in her own—it was too much to bear with equanimity.

Hope seemed such a dangerous thing, but despair was abhorrent to her. Despair would only admit her own defeat, and that she could not do. Not yet.

* * *

Excerpted, from Miss Elizabeth Bennet to Mrs. Edward Gardiner:

You asked in your last for a detailed reckoning of Highbury, and this you will have, probably crossed on every side. I will start with the clergy of these two parishes.

The parish of Highbury is presided over by Mr. Elton, a preening peacock of a man who thinks rather too much of his abilities. He has a wife who fancies herself a society lady and, I suspect, chafes against their income. I have heard from a reliable source that Mr. E wanted to marry a certain Mrs. K, a remarkable presumption which speaks to his vanity.

The other parish is Donwell, and its vicar is a Mr. Averill, whom J would like me to marry.

My dear aunt, I am starting to agree with you that when it comes to men of God, I am cursed.


	5. In which our intrepid hero reappears

A letter from Pemberley was always eagerly perused at Donwell, so Knightley was not at all surprised to see his wife standing at the window with her cousin’s letter in hand. He stopped in the doorway and watched with a smile, for there was no sight in the world lovelier or dearer. In the half-light, Emma’s elegant silhouette was nothing short of beautiful.

“Does Darcy send good news?” he asked eventually, for he could not in good conscience spend all day watching her.

Emma looked at him and smiled. “The very best news. He hopes to arrive on Tuesday, and he brings his sister with him.”

“His sister!” Knightley repeated. “I am not sure I even know her name.”

“Georgiana. She visited once or twice before her mother died, but not these ten years, at least.” Emma handed him the letter, which he skimmed. “She is nineteen now, and reckoned a very elegant and accomplished girl.”

“Well, if she is so accomplished, I hope to hear our piano put to good use.”

Emma blushed a little but did not deny it. “I am told she practices very constantly.”

“How then will she ever find time for a husband?” Knightley said, but Emma only raised her eyes to the heavens. “I am on my way to Hartfield. Can I carry any message to Isabella and John for you?”

“Isabella will want to know of our cousins’ plans. When she asks, tell her I will let her know if I need any assistance.”

After walking the mile between the houses, Knightley dutifully reported the news of Captain Darcy’s imminent arrival. John responded with a typical “very good; he should be glad to resume the acquaintance,” while Isabella wanted to know what she could do to help. Knightley was rather amused, however, by the reaction of his nephews. The boys had a hundred questions about their cousin the captain, and wanted very much to know how many pirates he had killed, and whether he ever met Napoleon. Eventually Knightley convinced them to write down their questions, and stayed by to help with their spelling.

On the following Tuesday, the two Darcys arrived as expected, despite Isabella’s fears to the contrary. The siblings were very handsome and very like Emma, Miss Darcy in particular. The Hartfield Knightleys came for dinner that night, and Isabella was very taken with the girl for her sweetness and her interest in the young cousins she would not meet for another day. Emma liked her for her elegance, but Knightley liked her because sweetness and elegance, coupled with a great deal of sense, made for an excellent young lady. 

There was no separation of the sexes after the family dinner. Georgiana, though she had only arrived that morning, was persuaded to sit at the instrument. Her reputation was well-deserved. She played nothing very complicated this evening, but there was artistry to accompany skill.

When she had played all she would, Knightley drew near his wife’s youngest cousin. He had seen how she blushed at John and Isabella’s praise, and he did not want to embarrass her. “I hope you will make use of the instrument whenever you care to,” he said to her quietly. “Your performance is very good.”

She gave him a genuine smile then, with no trace of embarrassment. “Thank you, Mr. Knightley. I hope you will not come to regret your kind offer. I have been accused of practicing a great deal.”

“Donwell could do with a little more noise,” he replied. 

“Mrs. Knightley does not play?” Georgiana asked. 

“Oh, she does—she plays charmingly—but she has never cared much for practice.”

“I should much rather practice than perform.”

“Then I am sorry for you, for the neighborhood is fond of excellent performances.”

She smiled and bowed her head. “I am eager to see Highbury again. I wonder if it accords with my memories of the place.”

“Well, I cannot answer for you there,” he replied. 

“What a curious thing memory is,” said her brother Darcy, who had moved his seat towards them as they spoke. “I have thought a thousand times, during the horse chestnut season, of a fine tree in Lambton, which I would run to as a boy often as not. Then, upon coming home again, I found it was not nearly so large as what I remembered.”

“You were little more than a boy when you were last in Lambton often,” Georgiana offered, with some meekness. 

“Aye, that I was,” Darcy answered. “But it is strange how a thing can loom in the memory as something greater than it is.”

“I hope you did not find your visit home unsatisfactory, cousin,” said Isabella. 

“Not at all. I took great enjoyment in reacquainting myself with every hill and dell about the countryside.”

“And danced at every ball,” Georgiana said, sounding almost puzzled, “whether there was a surplus or shortage of partners to be had.”

“I am afraid we do not have so many opportunities for dancing in Highbury,” Isabella remarked. “But our new neighbors, the Bingleys, are to host a party on Friday.”

“Oh, yes,” said Emma. “Your coming has been anticipated in the neighborhood for weeks, so you have been invited as well.”

Knightley was a little amused by the conscious look on young Miss Darcy’s face. “Shall I meet them first?” she asked.

“I am sure you will meet most of the party before Friday,” Emma replied. “You could hardly avoid meeting any of the neighborhood, but the Bingleys are already acquainted with your brother. Their sister, Miss Bennet, is a great favorite with him.”

“ _Emma_ ,” the brother protested. Georgiana and Knightley caught each other’s gaze and each smothered a laugh.

* * *

There was, naturally, a cascade of callers at Donwell in the next two days, which afforded Emma an opportunity to observe her two cousins more closely. The captain, though he had proven himself a man of proper feeling, was somewhat awkward with the little niceties of polite society. Emma could not be wholly surprised by it, but she was amused. Georgiana was more polished in her manners, but a shyness lay beneath her civility. Mrs. Elton would no doubt rave about her as she did about all women not named Emma; Emma would simply have to shield her as best she could. For all her shyness, though, Georgiana seemed determined to conduct herself as a young lady ought, and such determination Emma could admire wholeheartedly.

Emma was five years her senior, and while Georgiana had had the advantage of schooling and masters in town, it was evident that the younger woman saw in her a potential confidante. Her brothers were twelve and fifteen years older, and men besides. Edmund Darcy’s wife, Lady Eva, was brilliant and remarkably adept at the social games of their sphere, but had four children of her own. Perhaps Georgiana was feeling some benign neglect at home.

“Donwell is such a lovely home,” Georgiana said to her as they walked back from calling on tenants.

"There was a time when I could not imagine leaving Hartfield, but it is hard not to feel at home here,” Emma replied. “Do we compare to Pemberley?”

“Pemberley is not so old, nor so quiet. My nieces and nephews are an active sort.”

“They would enjoy a visit to Hartfield, then. Though perhaps Hartfield would not survive them!”

Georgiana smiled. “A little peace is good for me. And my brother, I suspect.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, although she was not sure why she did.

They were passing by the knot garden when Georgiana twisted her hands for a moment. “Mrs.—cousin, might I ask you something?”

Emma frowned. “But of course.”

“You have known Mr. Knightley all your life, I think,” the girl said. “You could not always have been in love with him, nor he with you, so when you decided to marry him, how did you know…”

Emma took her arm and guided her to a nearby bench. Something was troubling the girl, plainly, and Emma was more than a little concerned that some lad in London or Lambton was making professions he oughtn’t. “I will not trouble you with all the details,” she said, “But we each had a moment of revelation, as it were, and each out of jealousy, if I must be honest. The thought of losing him was so inexplicably painful that nothing but a deep love could cause it.”

“And what of him?” Georgiana asked. “How did you know you could trust his feelings to be the same as yours?”

Emma opened her mouth without a clear idea of what she would say, when suddenly she recalled a letter received three or four years ago. It had puzzled her greatly at the time, and she wondered if its solution were before her. “Georgiana, if I may—do these questions have anything to do with George Wickham?”

Georgiana gave a start and stammered out, “How—how did you—”

“Don’t trouble yourself, dear. I had a letter from Lady Eva a few years ago about the man. She gave no details but said your brother had cut Wickham off at last after some transgression and that we ought to stay alert in case he decided to try his luck with a different set of Darcys.” 

Georgiana looked away in distress. “I was fifteen. Eva helped me convince Edmund to let me go to the sea with a companion. One of my friends from school was to be there, but a death in her family prevented it. So Mrs. Younge and I went, and we met Mr. Wickham. I thought it was by chance, but he and Mrs. Younge were there to work upon me for my fortune. I felt like such a fool when Edmund arrived and threw them out. I was at the point of agreeing to an elopement!”

As Georgiana explained, Emma understood what had brought on the initial question. “Cousin, I have come to the conclusion that we are all fools at fifteen, and some of us a good deal longer,” she said ruefully. “I was twenty-two when I married, which must account for some of the difference between my situation and yours. But let me ask you this: was Wickham a flatterer in his dealings with you?”

“With everyone, I think, or at least everyone I remember.”

“But particularly with you?”

She nodded. “I hardly heard a word from him in Ramsgate which was not flattery.”

Emma smiled wryly. “While I have hardly ever had a word from Mr. Knightley that was.” Georgiana looked a little alarmed by this too, so Emma bade her rise and walk back to the house with her. “It is not such a trial to marry a man who speaks only the truth. An honest man can always be trusted, after all, and there is no relationship which requires more trust than marriage.” She paused a moment to consider her words. “Would you have agreed to the elopement if my cousin had not arrived?”

“I hardly know. Mrs. Younge could not understand my hesitance. Every hour my thoughts on the matter changed.”

“Never marry where you doubt, Georgiana. And never marry to disoblige your family either.” The last she said thinking of Mr. Elton and Harriet and what a nightmare that could have been.

“My brother—Edmund, obviously, not Fitzwilliam—played the dragon a little in London,” Georgiana said as they entered the house.

Emma smiled. “Of his own accord, or did he have encouragement?”

The girl gave a sheepish smile in return. “It was his idea, but I hardly objected.” There she paused. “Emma, is it wrong of me to think I should not like to spend much time in town? I have friends there and I do enjoy myself for a time, but then I want to be at home again.”

“No, I quite comprehend your feelings. A little variety now and then is good for the spirit, but to be at home is good for the soul. But speaking of variety, we are to dine tomorrow at Glen Eyrie, so you shall finally meet the Bingleys and Miss Bennet.”

Georgiana was frowning again. “Glen Eyrie? Is not an eyrie a falcon’s nest?”

“Something like that.”

“Are there many cliffs in Surrey, then?”

Emma smiled. “I have not explored the whole country yet, but I think not.”

* * *

Jane’s cough worsened for a day or two, so the Glen Eyrie party did not call at Donwell before the dinner they were to host. Elizabeth felt more than a little strange over it. She was sure that Captain Darcy would not hold it against her, but she wanted to see him again.

It would happen by chance. Elizabeth was playing with Birdie, following her out of the little labyrinth just beyond the house, when a heavy step on the gravel startled her. She gasped and whirled about, shielding her little niece behind her. A moment later she relaxed. “Captain Darcy!”

He made a gallant bow, and Elizabeth curtsied in kind. “Forgive me for startling you, Miss Bennet. It is good to see you again.”

“And you, sir,” she replied.

“You are well, I can see,” he said. “Your sister’s health—has she found an improvement?”

“She is improving, thank you, but these last few days she has been a little unwell. Otherwise we would have called at Donwell by now.”

The captain nodded. “Will you introduce me to your friend?” he asked, gesturing to the rustling of her skirts.

“Oh!” Elizabeth cried, a little embarrassed. Then she turned and lifted her niece to her hip. “Come, Birdie, and meet my friend, Captain Darcy.” She looked at him and said, “My niece, Elizabeth Bingley.”

“Good morning, Miss Bingley,” he said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Birdie smiled but would not take the hand he courteously offered. Instead she was for a moment shy and hid her face in Elizabeth’s neck. “She will not recommend herself to a stranger this morning,” Elizabeth said.

“I know the feeling,” Darcy replied. “She is a beautiful child, though. She looks like you.”

Birdie was insensible of the great compliment he had paid her, but Elizabeth felt her face grow hot. In Weymouth she grew accustomed to Captain Darcy’s blunt way of speaking; this was beyond anything he had said to her by the sea.

He seemed a little embarrassed, though Elizabeth could not account for why. Then he fiddled with his gloves and met her eyes. “I fear I am turned about and cannot find the road back to Donwell,” he said.

“Oh!” Elizabeth cried, half laughing. “How mortifying!”

“A little, yes. I am without even a compass this morning, let alone any proper charts. I could wait till dark and navigate by the stars, but I thought asking you might be more expedient.”

Elizabeth grinned. “A little.”

“So this is Glen Eyrie, I surmise. If I walk to the end of your lane, which way should I turn?”

“Left, but there is a shortcut that goes by the vicarage. I could show you, if you like.”

“I would be in your debt.”

“Let me give Birdie to her nurse, then.”

She left the gentleman waiting while she took her niece back to the house. When she returned, he was examining the fledgling row of espalier apple trees lining an avenue into a little wilderness. “The owner of Glen Eyrie is fond of improvement, I think,” she said to the captain.

“I suppose I am left to wonder if the gardener of Glen Eyrie is as fond of it as the owner,” he said. “This sort of lattice attempt is not how an apple tree will naturally grow.”

“No, but it produces fruit, so I suppose it is still an apple tree.” These apples were still a little green, though, so they left them alone. “Let me show you the way, sir.”

They ambled along the lane between Glen Eyrie and Donwell, talking of subjects as varied as any of their walks in Weymouth. Easy familiarity returned, and Elizabeth found herself laughing often as he told stories of learning to navigate at sea and how hopeless his first captain found him. “It all got much easier when someone bothered to teach me the mathematics involved,” he said, “but I was so much taller than my peers that Captain Blair thought I was much older than I was.”

“Well, you retired a captain, so you must have learned to navigate eventually.”

“Yes, thanks to Captain Harriman. He was Lieutenant Harriman at the time, second lieutenant aboard the _Intrepid_. He is her captain now, and will do quite well with a full roster of midshipmen to raise.”

Elizabeth tried to imagine Captain Darcy as a boy, first at sea, tall and gangly and mistaken for an older, more experienced young man. “You have given me a different picture of life at sea than I expected, sir. Next you will tell me that the scar on your face was got in a ship’s galley and not in some brave battle.”

“No, madam, I have the French to thank for that,” he said. “They attacked at night and boarded almost before we could beat to quarters. I was first lieutenant then, and the captain was killed in the first salvo. It was my first command, and I am very grateful I came out of it with only this scratch.”

“Well, there is a body of water to cross on this path,” Elizabeth said, slowing as they reached the bend in the road, “but hopefully no French lying in wait. Follow the paling till it stops, cross the stream, and head for the vicarage. That will take you back to the road, but save you half a mile. Turn right at the end of the vicarage lane and you are almost at the Abbey.”

Captain Darcy tipped his hat to her in thanks, but he did not set off right away. “I understand we are to dine at Glen Eyrie tomorrow night,” he said. “Assuming Mrs. Bingley’s health allows.”

“She is on the mend, I assure you.”

“I am glad to hear it. I—perhaps you know, my sister has accompanied me. I am eager to have you meet her.”

This compliment was not so pointed as his earlier one, but Elizabeth felt it all the same. “I would be honored, sir.”

He nodded again, then reached for her hand to bow over it. When he turned to go, Elizabeth stood for a moment, dazed, watching him depart and wondering at the effect he had on her.

Elizabeth tarried at her dressing table the next evening. The handsomest man she had ever known had called her beautiful, and hardly a woman of woman born could take such a compliment with a steady heartbeat. If the evening’s entertainment were to be a ball of fifty couple, Elizabeth might not have been quite so anxious over her appearance, but it was only the principal ladies and gentlemen of the two parishes. With a larger group she might not have felt quite so much like she had an audience, especially when the captain introduced her to his sister. 

At least she liked most of the guests. Jane had invited Mr. Averill, both of the Knightley couples, and Mr. and Mrs. Weston. Elizabeth had been entirely truthful with Mrs. Knightley when she described Mrs. Weston as an excellent woman. Mr. Weston, as affable as Sir William Lucas but rather more sensible, was endearing in his own way. It seemed the couple were an excellent example of matrimonial harmony.

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were the sort of couple everyone rather expected, each the child of a great family and a propitious match on both sides. Isabella Knightley reminded Elizabeth very much of Jane, although she had a sophistication from many years living in town. John Knightley had just been elected to the House of Commons and surely had a wonderful career before him.

Mr. and Mrs. Knightley were more of a mystery, though they came from exactly the same lines as the other Knightleys. Their fondness for each other was obvious, but what a curious couple they made! She had a sense of whimsy about her which seemed oddly matched with such a sensible specimen of an English gentleman. Elizabeth liked him very much, but her—she was not sure she would ever like Mrs. Knightley half as well. Mrs. Knightley was gracious and elegant, but from the start of their acquaintance in the assembly room in Weymouth, Elizabeth had felt Mrs. Knightley thought less of her somehow for reasons unknown to her. 

Tonight Mrs. Knightley was so bright and gregarious that one would be justified in thinking she was hosting the party. Elizabeth was a little miffed on behalf of her sister, who presided with grace but could never dominate the room like that. Mrs. Knightley was among her friends and family, but still Elizabeth thought it rather unfair of her to remain the center of attention in such a way.

At least she could not dominate on the instrument. Mrs. John Knightley was her superior, but they were both eclipsed by their cousin. Miss Darcy had some reserve, some awkwardness with new acquaintances, but Elizabeth thought only Mrs. Churchill was better at the pianoforte. Elizabeth had played her usual English airs and felt somewhat ashamed to see this girl surpass her so far. 

She had a pair of interesting conversations that night, each about Miss Darcy, in fact. The first was with the captain, during dinner. “I was astonished, truly, to find her so accomplished,” he said to Elizabeth, quietly. “That word is used so much it has lost half its meaning, but for a girl her age to show such skill and application is wonderful indeed. She has a flaw, though, and I must concede you were right about one thing.”

“Right?”

“There is such a thing as too much German.”

Later, when Miss Darcy began to sing, Elizabeth smiled to think of Captain Darcy’s assessment. But she would soon have a distraction. She was standing in the passageway to cool herself from her own performance, and Mr. Averill approached from behind, having been called out from the rest to answer a message on parish business. Elizabeth turned to him, intent on asking if all was well, but the rapt look on his face stilled her tongue. She looked back at Miss Darcy. The young lady wore a white gown, with pink roses in her golden hair, and in the lamplight she was a vision of loveliness.

“You told me once that Mrs. Churchill’s playing made you feel dreadfully mortal,” Elizabeth said, _sotto voce_.

“I did,” he confessed. “And I do.”

Elizabeth hazarded a glance at him and smiled to herself. Never before had she seen a man so instantly love-struck as this—and for a ballad in German! So much for Jane’s plans.

* * *

Excerpted, from Lady Eva Darcy, to Miss Georgiana Darcy:

We are at sixes and sevens here since you and Fitzwilliam left. No fault of yours, of course, just that with the election coming there is ever so much to do, and only so many hours in a day. We have a dinner party tonight, a ball at Bellwood tomorrow, and tea the day after that. Heaven help me if I think about the days beyond.

James asks where you keep the London Bach. I told him where I thought you would have it but he insists if it is London Bach, it must be in the London house. Do you know, I think I might miss his terrible jokes when he goes to Harrow.

Forgive me this hodgepodge of a letter, dear. I write whenever I have a moment, which as you know is not as often as I would like. I interrupt myself now to direct your attention to the enclosed. An arrest has been made in the murder of the Thompson brothers in Newcastle. You were right after all—it was the greengrocer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick aside about that excerpted letter: this story predates the development of the mystery novel as we know it today. The first detective novel, The Notting Hill Mystery, wasn’t published until the 1860s. What held people’s fascination for death and crime before that was true crime. News reports of gruesome murders were popular entertainment. In populated areas it wasn’t uncommon for actual crime scenes to become impromptu tourist spots—even before the body was removed!


	6. In which no one knows anyone's meaning

Excerpted, from Mrs. Ichabod Hamlin to Miss Elizabeth Bennet:

Weather continues dreadful here. I cannot remember how long it has been since we had a fair day, let alone a fine one. I hope Surrey gets more sunshine. My poor little boy is going mad from lack of time out of doors.

[…]

Have you still heard nothing from Lydia? It is so unlike her these days. She was never a good correspondent when she lived in England, but since going abroad she likes to show off what she sees. I wrote her about the latest fashions in March and have heard nothing since. I wonder if the letters went astray? I do not know how they manage to get all the way to the East Indies in any case.

* * *

The bridge which Emma had written about at midsummer was now rebuilt, and early in the morning the two Knightley gentlemen walked out to inspect it along with their cousin Darcy. The test was conducted by a Mr. Martin who was tenant of Donwell’s largest farm. He had filled a cart with a heavy load of apples and gained a promise that if the bridge failed and the load was lost, the Knightleys would provide recompense. Standing a little to the side, Darcy put in, “I suppose you have asked if Mr. Martin can swim.” In his mind’s eye was a vision of Frank Churchill flailing and sinking off the coast of Weymouth.

“Of course I can,” Martin replied, with some contempt for the question.

“Then by all means, proceed.”

Martin drove over the new bridge with hardly a creak and nary a groan from the timbers. “Well done, sirs,” Darcy said to his companions. “I salute the engineer.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Martin called, somewhat to his surprise. He had not expected the tenant farmer to have been involved in the design.

“I could no more do without Robert Martin than I could without William Larkins,” Knightley remarked as they walked away.

“Was not his wife…?” John Knightley prompted.

“Yes, yes,” the elder brother said. “She was delivered of a second child some days ago.”

Darcy was not sure to what that line of questioning tended, so he changed the subject. “Are you off to London soon for the opening of Parliament?” he asked of John Knightley.

The other man shook his head. “No date has been set. There is a rumor that we shan’t meet until after Christmas. It’s a terrible notion if you ask me. London is no place to be in summer.”

“You lived there for ten years,” Knightley said.

“Which is how I know,” the other replied. “Darcy, have you ever had the pleasure of London in summer?”

“No, but I spent a summer in the East Indies once. Sounds about as comfortable, for there were fewer politicians to wrangle with.”

John Knightley chuckled in response. “So what are your plans, Darcy? I know Emma would let you stay forever, but after your life abroad I don’t know if Surrey will fulfill your heart’s desires.”

“There is much appealing about this place, though,” Darcy replied. “Quiet and retiring is not such an evil in my mind.”

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he could see himself in a happy retirement here. Emma’s hospitality might be limitless, but he very much wanted a home of his own, and a very different lady from his cousin to make that home with him.

The party split at Donwell-lane, John Knightley walking on to Hartfield while the others returned to the Abbey for breakfast. At the table, Darcy learned that the night before, Georgiana had arranged to meet Miss Bennet for a walk into Highbury. Emma exclaimed over the distance and offered the use of her phaeton, but Georgiana said the distance was nothing to alarm her. Knightley looked at Darcy while Emma pressed Georgiana, so Darcy set his napkin aside and said, “Emma, let us not wrangle over this. If my sister does not mind, I shall walk with her. I will simply hang back and let the ladies have their confidences.”

Georgiana opened her mouth as though to protest, but Darcy shook his head minutely. She then conceded to the plan, though not without a look of displeasure in her brother’s direction.

“I am sorry to intrude upon you,” he told her once they were alone. “Emma would not have left the matter alone if I did not. Sometimes it is simply easier to appease her.”

Georgiana regarded him with an appraising eye. “Why do I think you have an ulterior motive?”

“I do not know your meaning.”

She only hummed in response as she left to fetch her bonnet.

They were on their way shortly. The morning was cool and still; golden leaves drifted down around them as they walked Donwell-lane. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “The Bingleys and Miss Bennet are charming people, although I do not think I have to tell you that, especially where Miss Bennet is concerned.”

“Oh, so that is the ulterior motive you have imagined for this walk.”

“Do you not find her charming?”

“In every way,” he freely admitted. “But as she was the first unmarried lady I met when I came ashore, perhaps I am not the best judge.” Georgiana merely smiled, so Darcy took it upon himself to tease in return. “You certainly commanded some attention last night, or did you not notice the vicar of Donwell?”

Georgiana blushed as only a girl of nineteen would. “I do not know your meaning.”

They were approaching the lane to the vicarage, where they were to meet Miss Bennet. She was waiting, but with her was the vicar himself. Darcy felt a moment’s pause in seeing them together, in some animated conversation. Miss Bennet was smiling and her gestures were broad. Then she turned and caught sight of the Darcys, and her smile became truly dazzling. “Miss Darcy!” she cried. “You are just in time. Come, tell this ridiculous vicar I am right!”

Georgiana was shocked by the way Miss Bennet spoke of Mr. Averill, but Darcy had to fight back a laugh. The siblings quickened their steps toward the quarreling pair. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Averill, how pleasant to see you again,” Darcy said. “What is the point of your dispute?”

“We were speaking of how well you played last night, Miss Darcy,” Miss Bennet said. “It seems Mozart is a favorite with both of us, but we cannot come to an agreement on _Così fan tutte_. Mr. Averill thinks Don Alfonso is the villain of the piece, and I say Guglielmo and Ferrando bear the brunt of the blame.”

“I am not saying Guglielmo and Ferrando bear none of the blame,” Mr. Averill put in, “only that we are meant to see Don Alfonso as the villain.”

“Tell her why,” Miss Bennet pressed.

The vicar turned, with some chagrin, to Georgiana. “Because he is the bass, Miss Darcy.”

Darcy watched his sister’s curiosity transform into laughter. Miss Bennet was smiling again and Mr. Averill seemed relieved. “I am afraid you are both wrong,” Georgiana said. “Alfonso is a bass role, Mr. Averill, but so too is Guglielmo. Ferrando is the tenor and ought to be the hero, but in truth I find all three men deplorable. Despina, too. If I could burn every copy of _Così_ I should be happy.”

“But such beautiful music, Miss Darcy!” Mr. Averill protested, though Darcy was not sure he was serious.

“Then let us find a librettist and write a new story.”

“An excellent notion,” the vicar said. “But I think I am keeping you and Miss Bennet from your walk.”

“Will you not join us?” Miss Bennet said. “If I am not much mistaken, Captain Darcy is coming along. It may spoil the picturesque to have four instead of three, but at least the lane is wide enough.”

“If Miss Darcy does not mind,” Mr. Averill replied. Georgiana gave a shy smile, and the quartet was off.

Along the way to Highbury, they split into two pairs, the gentlemen hanging back from the ladies. Darcy found the vicar a good-humored gentleman, well-spoken and sensible. “I understand from Emma that you are acquainted with some of my other cousins,” Darcy said to him.

“I am. I knew two of them at Oxford. And if I remember rightly, I met your brother once, through the Starmore Darcys. I trust he is well?”

“He is indeed, and his wife and children.”

“I was surprised to meet Miss Darcy last night. I’m afraid my only intelligence of her was of a child, and such were my expectations.”

“That can be no worse than my own, coming home after some years abroad. I knew her spelling was improved, but I was startled to find her so nearly a woman.” Darcy looked at his sister and Miss Bennet, who were gradually outpacing the men. “In fact, I invited her to join me here because it was obvious she had become quite an interesting person and I wanted to know her better.”

“She is a remarkably gifted musician.”

The statement was made with a proper amount of feeling, but Darcy remembered how Mr. Averill had looked at his sister the night before, as though witnessing the miraculous. “That she is,” he replied. “Our mother was too. She favors our mother in all but appearance; there she favors the Darcys.”

From there Mr. Averill remarked on the curiosities of family resemblance, how he and his elder brother would not in a hundred years be suspected of kinship; Darcy told of a pair of twins he had served with who looked as different as night and day; and after that an easy silence. They were shortly in the village at any rate. The two men rejoined the young ladies. “Have you had your fill of confidences?” Darcy asked his sister.

“Oh, hardly ever,” Georgiana replied, “but enough for now. Oh, is this not a charming place, Fitzwilliam? And just as you remember?”

Indeed, in Highbury, time had had shockingly little effect. Darcy had not been here in well above a decade, yet he instantly had his bearings in the place. The church, Ford’s, the Crown, the apothecary, the post office, all was as he remembered it. Even a number of the people were enough like their younger selves that he had no trouble recognizing them. Where the mind did not supply a name, the vicar and Miss Bennet were happy to do the honors.

Miss Bennet fetched Glen Eyrie’s letters while they were in the village; Darcy stayed back to wait for her while Mr. Averill and Georgiana wandered toward the church, Averill telling her a story and showing her some point of the town as part of it. Miss Bennet came out of the post office shortly, took in the scene, and smiled at Darcy. “You are not so protective of her as I always imagined a brother would be.”

“I keep a weather eye on her, madam,” he replied, “but I leave it to my brother to draw swords where she is concerned. Although in truth I believe she could defend herself quite neatly if the vicar were to overstep himself.”

“There is little fear of that. I know Mr. Knightley thinks the world of Mr. Averill, and he is not a man whose good opinion is wasted on unworthy specimens.”

“An excellent observation. Are you in the habit of sketching characters?”

She laughed and colored. “Once I was, but I think I was too quick to judge. Even sketching in pencil, it is hard to erase a mark completely, and I think too often I was tempted to sketch with pen and ink.”

“Do you draw more ordinary subjects, then?”

“A little. I do not pretend to any genius, but in recent years I have discovered it is a useful skill.”

“Very much so. The most useful fellow I ever served with was a Marine who could sketch a place from a moment’s observation of it. Two of my cousins are in the army, and quite envied his skill when I described it to them. Though he could not draw the human form at all.”

Miss Bennet smiled. “My youngest sister draws better than most, and while my father employed a master, Lydia did quite well. But she would have me sit for hours at a time before deciding at last that there was something odd about my face which could not be reproduced. As a result I did not speak to her for fully a month. Ah, Miss Darcy and Mr. Averill have turned back.”

It was well that she had added the last part, for Darcy was on the verge of saying he did not know a lady could be too handsome to be drawn properly. In Weymouth he had thought her a pretty, fresh-faced young woman, but here in Highbury he could not ignore that her eyes were the finest he had ever seen. Perhaps she was vain about it, but she had some cause.

His sister had taken the vicar’s arm; in a fit of gallantry he offered the same service to the lady at his side. Miss Bennet’s hand was hardly any weight on his arm as they headed back toward Donwell parish. “I have been remiss,” he said, “in not asking if you enjoyed your sister’s party last night.”

She smiled and looked away. “Oh, the food was excellent, and my sister’s quiet elegance ought to be a model for any woman.”

With another woman he might have missed the slight emphasis on the word _quiet_ , but Darcy was paying enough attention to his companion that he recognized the little barb. Miss Bennet would not be the first to find fault with Emma. “She and Mrs. John Knightley must like each other a great deal,” he said neutrally.

“I believe they do,” Miss Bennet replied, “but Mrs. John Knightley has not a surfeit of time free for new friends.”

“No, I believe I had more freedom aboard the _Fortuna_ ,” Darcy said. “But her children are bright and respectful, so I can hardly criticize my cousin for being so devoted to them.”

“No, indeed. I am convinced there are many parents who do not spend half so much time with half so many children.”

For a dozen steps or so, they walked on in silence. Georgiana and Mr. Averill were outpacing them, partly by Darcy’s design. “Miss Bennet, would it impose on you greatly for me to ask for your opinion of the gentleman?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Not at all. I have younger sisters too, Captain.” She took a moment to think. “I have listened to two months of sermons from him, and I can say his theology is sound. He writes his own sermons, and while he may be a little evangelical for the taste of some, he is sincere in his faith, and wants his parishioners to follow his example. The only vices I could possibly name in him are a preference for whist over speculation, and French airs over Italian.”

“Well, a preference for French is grave indeed,” Darcy said.

“We may hope it extends only so far as music. He really is an agreeable gentleman. He is well-read and genuinely interested in what he has read, which I have found sadly uncommon in graduates of otherwise fine universities.”

“I will probably write to my brother—or better, my sister-in-law—but otherwise leave him be. It is far too early to imagine anything coming of this, I suppose.”

“Probably. Although I must confess, my sister Mary knew within an hour of meeting her husband that they would marry.”

“A family of five daughters ought to have a touch of the prophetic.”

“A touch of Cassandra, perhaps. No one believed her until nearly the day Mr. Marchand proposed.”

“Marchand? Miss Bennet, I begin to wonder at this proliferation of Francophilia.”

“It is not catching, I assure you. Besides, would I be mistaken in thinking the name Darcy might come from a country with which we were lately at war?”

Knowing he was bested, Darcy gave an imperious sniff and replied, “I do not know your meaning.”

* * *

Though the weather was turning cooler day by day, it became a habit for the two young ladies of Donwell Abbey and Glen Eyrie to walk together in the morning. More often than not they merely explored the near environs of the two houses, or sometimes ventured into Donwell village. Occasionally they were joined by Mr. Knightley or Captain Darcy or Mr. Averill.

Once when the latter joined them, Jane had as well, and she was somewhat startled to see the particularity of the vicar’s attentions to Miss Darcy. “I am of half a mind to be cross with you, Lizzy,” Jane said when they returned to Glen Eyrie. “You know I thought him partial to you, and have you been matching him with Miss Darcy all the while?”

“Only if walking with them now and then may be called matchmaking,” Elizabeth said with laughter. “Oh, Jane, Jane, Jane-of-my-heart, I know you wished him partial to me and me to him, but it really is much better this way. I am not Lydia, to marry for fear of never marrying.”

“No, I did not think you were, and we are all grateful that Mr. Bergamot was a good man after all. But I know you, Lizzy. I do not think you have been content since Papa died. Happy at whiles, yes, but not satisfied.”

“And you think marriage will cure me?”

“No, but a marriage to the right man? Your own home, your own purpose?” Jane offered. “You and Mr. Averill got on so well right from the start. Can you forgive me for thinking this way?”

“My dear sister, there is nothing to forgive. I confess I had similar thoughts. But try as I might, I could not see myself content in that life either.”

“Because he is a clergyman?”

“Because I cannot see him as a husband.”

“I suppose that is reason enough. I would not have my dearest sister marry without love.” Jane paused. “I think one of our neighbors might express some relief at this.”

“I do not know your meaning,” Elizabeth said, hearing Captain Darcy’s voice as she said it.

“More than one, in fact. I can think of three.”

Jane departed the sitting room, leaving Elizabeth confused. _Three?_

* * *

The mistress of Glen Eyrie was disappointed by realizing the object of Mr. Averill’s attentions, but the same could not be said of the mistress of Donwell Abbey. Though Emma had long ago sworn off the active pursuit of matchmaking, in her heart it was difficult to resist the urge to daydream little arrangements. As long as it went no further than her imagination, she told herself it was no evil. Besides, in this case the idea did not come to her without help. The gentleman in question came to see Knightley one day and stayed for dinner, and Emma saw for herself his interest in her cousin.

Georgiana was not without interest of her own. Darcy wrote to his sister-in-law, and in reaction Eva wrote to Emma to ask intelligence and impart her own. Some of it Emma knew already. Georgiana had told her that she did not fancy the life her brother and sister at Pemberley led. Edmund Darcy was about to stand for Parliament, and Lady Eva was a rising jewel among Whig hosts. It was a great deal of pressure, even if Georgiana married outside of those active political circles.

A quiet country life, such as Mr. Averill could offer, might suit the young woman exceedingly. John Averill was her equal in every way, even descending from an earl’s family. The Donwell living was a lucrative one, and Mr. Averill had an inheritance independent of it. Emma would be happy to have her cousin at hand too. London was less than half a day’s journey away, so in the season Georgiana could visit her family easily.

Most of all, it seemed she genuinely liked him. To Emma’s mind it was a settled thing, or nearly so, even though when she hinted at the possibility to Georgiana while they cut the last of the rose hips, she got a blushing “I do not know your meaning” in reply. “I will not force your confidence,” Emma said, knowing how poorly that had gone in the past, “but if you ever do wish to talk…”

“Oh, I know,” Georgiana said. “It is just that I do not know—not for certain—if there is anything to talk about.”

“Of course.”

“He is very handsome, though, is he not?”

“Indeed. I did not know him by more than reputation before I moved to Donwell, but I told Mr. Knightley how glad I was to have a well-looking man in the pulpit, as well as well-spoken.”

“And he does speak very well,” the girl continued, with more of a dreamy sigh than one was accustomed to hear when the subject was preaching. “His sermon on the widow’s two mites Sunday last was so moving.”

“It was.”

“He will be at the Coles’ party in a fortnight. Do you know if there will be dancing, Emma?”

“There usually is at the Coles’ parties.”

“I do not think I will be ready to play the concerto I have been practicing.”

“Play some little love songs, my dear, or the Bach that Mr. Averill likes so well.”

That too made Georgiana blush, but Emma did not know if it was the first part or the second which did the mischief. All she did know was that it was rather delightful to see such an intelligent young lady so completely overset by an attachment. She foresaw many happy hours of amusement as Mr. Averill’s attentions grew more obvious and the important question was asked at last.

Until, of course, Mrs. Elton’s family finally descended upon Highbury, and threw all of Emma’s happy plans into chaos.


	7. In which a number of characters experience a personal apocalypse

Excerpted, from Mrs. Frank Churchill to Mrs. George Knightley:

P.S.—Frank has had word of the Sucklings arriving in Highbury. We met them in Bath a year ago, when we took Frank’s uncle there for the waters. You have my sympathy.

* * *

“She is worse than Mamma,” Jane was heard to say, a shocking reflection on both Mrs. Elton and the late Mrs. Bennet. The arrival of the Sucklings had thrown everything in Highbury and Donwell into a frenzy. Old schemes about exploring the country were being revived, despite the impracticality of doing so during the harvest. Despite the sometimes joint protests of both sisters that they were much more inclined to stay quiet at home, Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Suckling were indefatigable in their drive to get the neighborhood to bend to their will.

Mr. and Mrs. Suckling had also brought with them their brother, Mr. Thomas Suckling. Mr. Thomas apparently had the running of the business which had brought the elder brother into the gentry. He was well-mannered and had a gentleman’s education, but a gentleman he was not. And it was to this end that Jane pronounced what bordered on a negative opinion on Mrs. Elton, for the latter, it was clear, very much wanted him to woo Miss Darcy.

“I do not understand it either, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “Surely Mrs. Elton knows Miss Darcy could not marry Mr. Thomas. I am positive her brothers would never consent to it. Besides, he reminds me dreadfully of Mr. Collins.”

“Lizzy.”

“I know. But our cousin does very well with Charlotte’s influence. Miss Darcy is charming and intelligent but hardly the manager Charlotte is.”

“And that does not seem like a skill one could learn along the way.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all.”

“And yet I cannot see much we can do to help her.”

“We could try to occupy Miss Darcy’s time when we are in company with Mrs. Elton’s party.”

“Do you think it would be enough?”

“I think it is incumbent upon us to try.”

But it was difficult to invoke any plan Elizabeth could concoct, for Mrs. Elton was more forward and cunning than Elizabeth was willing to be. Mrs. Suckling would come to Elizabeth to beg a moment of her time, drawing her away from Miss Darcy, while Mrs. Elton kept Jane too busy to keep Mr. Thomas Suckling away from the girl. Once, Elizabeth insisted on Miss Darcy accompanying her for whatever trifling question she had to ask, but Mrs. Elton routed her by simply walking them over to Mr. Thomas.

The worst of it was that Mr. Averill was at a clear loss for how to proceed. Elizabeth asked him pointedly once what she could do to help, and she got a response rather more anguished than she had predicted. “What is there to be done? It is not as though I have a—a claim to her,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“It is vexing,” Elizabeth murmured. “Worst of all, I could hardly imagine that Miss Darcy’s brothers would allow such a match even if she were interested. He is not a bad sort of person, but Miss Darcy has thirty thousand pounds and an earl for a grandfather.”

This did not seem to give Mr. Averill much comfort. “And what of me?”

“My friend, do not think of yourself in such a light. You are a gentleman, and from a family at least as fine as the Darcys.”

“That does not mean _I_ deserve her.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, with a smile at the soft tone of his voice. “Your good heart is why you deserve her. Your rank and fortune will simply make it easier for her brothers to give their consent.”

Mr. Averill shook his head. “Sometimes you are too practical, Miss Bennet.”

Once an old friend had accused her of the opposite, and the memory made her shake her head. “Perhaps it is Mrs. Knightley’s influence that I do not wish to be crossed in this matter.”

“If that is your opinion of Mrs. Knightley, I fear you are laboring under some misapprehension about her character.”

“That is hardly to the purpose now, Mr. Averill.”

“I suppose I will do what I have always done,” he replied, “and put my trust in the Almighty.”

It was a sound plan, Elizabeth thought, but she imagined the Almighty would not object to a little help.

How exactly to render such service unto the Lord was something of a mystery, until one afternoon when Elizabeth met Mrs. Knightley by chance. The latter was in her phaeton, driving the road from Randalls to Donwell. “Ah, Miss Bennet,” she said, “I’ve wished for a moment to speak with you. Will you let me drive you to Glen Eyrie?”

Elizabeth was not sure what to make of the request, but she stepped up into the carriage anyway and Mrs. Knightley drove off. “I will not waste your time, Miss Bennet. I trust your keen observation has led you to understand that Mrs. Elton has some designs on the future of your friend and my cousin which are not desirable.”

“I… yes, I have,” Elizabeth said. “I have tried to stay near her when we are in company.”

“I have a scheme a little more active in mind, and I think of all the ladies in the neighborhood you are best suited to help me,” Mrs. Knightley replied. “I need you to occupy Mr. Thomas Suckling.”

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open a little and she struggled to think of what to say. “Mrs. Knightley, I…”

“I am not asking you to do anything nefarious, or anything which will sully your excellent reputation, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Knightley continued. “Nor am I asking you to do anything alone. My husband and my brother will assist you in occupying the man.”

Elizabeth felt a little relief at that. “And how does the game end, Mrs. Knightley?”

“One of two ways. Either the Sucklings go home, or Mr. Averill speaks.”

“Will you try to persuade him not to wait?”

Mrs. Knightley almost grinned. “That _would_ be too much like Lady Catherine.”

* * *

Donwell’s strawberries were late that year, and Knightley had organized a day to pick them. He had intentionally waited to learn that the Eltons and their guests had plans for Box Hill before choosing a day. Now Bella Knightley chased her little sister Emma as well as Anna Weston out of trouble all morning while the boys brought strawberries to their mamma and aunt and Mrs. Weston. This left the Knightley brothers playing chaperone for their courting cousins. Knightley left any conversations about these matters to his wife, but it seemed to him that the captain and Mr. Averill were both ready and more so to progress beyond the suspense of now.

The sky had clouded over, but without threat of rain, so the ladies did not even need the parasols they had brought. Miss Bennet was walking alongside Darcy but was speaking with John about wheat, of all things. Once in a while one of the boys would run up to ask Darcy a question about fighting pirates. The day could not have gone better.

Georgiana and Averill had reached the peak of the hill and were standing there in the shade at the edge of the wood. Averill was carrying a basket laden with berries, watching attentively while Georgiana pointed out something beyond the hill. “They will make an excellent match, don’t you think?” John said quietly.

“Is matchmaking an epidemic here?” Miss Bennet asked in some disbelief.

It was enough to shake George out of his own surprise and into laughter. “You may be on to something,” he replied.

But then Georgiana let go of her companion’s arm and stepped towards the wood. She bent down, overturned a large rock, and with the end of her closed parasol, she lifted up a snake.

Miss Bennet let out a little shriek and jumped back, landing straight in Captain Darcy’s arms. The men would deny it later but they shouted a great deal as well. Georgiana, though, was smiling mischievously as she lifted the snake from her parasol and curled it over her arm. “Oh, don’t be alarmed!” she said. “He is not dangerous.”

“How do you know?” Miss Bennet very nearly demanded.

Darcy was by then beginning to laugh. “My sister has been interested in snakes since before she can remember, I wager. Georgiana, do you recall—”

“Do not you dare!” the girl said, the snake still dangling from her arm.

“Very well,” Darcy replied.

He still had one arm around Miss Bennet. Knightley clapped him on the shoulder briefly and said, “Let us not get too comfortable in the presence of such hideous beasts.”

Darcy took the hint and made a decorous separation from the young lady. Georgiana had apparently missed the interplay and heard only the insult to the creature. “It is a _reptile_ , cousin,” she said reproachfully. “Did they teach you nothing at Oxford?”

“The only serpent I learned of at Oxford was in the Garden of Eden, Miss Darcy,” Averill put in.

“A shame. Herpetology is very interesting.”

“Well, cousin, why don’t we put the interesting snake back and rejoin our friends below?” George said in his most commanding tone.

She was impervious to it, though. “I thought the children might like to see it.”

“No,” John said, with unexpected vehemence, “for it would frighten the girls excessively and give the boys ideas.”

Georgiana almost pouted as she returned the snake to its rock. It slithered away into the woods, and Miss Bennet finally seemed to relax. “Let us go back,” she said. “I think we have picked all the berries left up here.”

* * *

Jane and Charles came for dinner at the Abbey, along with Mr. Weston, and afterward the party settled in the comfortable drawing room with its large hearth. Mr. and Mrs. Knightley had some debate on whether the fire was too large, but eventually those who welcomed it sat near, and the rest sought out other parts of the room.

Eventually, Elizabeth found herself with the captain, away from the rest. Not knowing how long the moment would last, she immediately got to her purpose. “You must tell me what story Miss Darcy stopped you from relating before.”

He chuckled before he said a word. “I cannot remember if it was the year one or two,” he replied. “I was on half-pay that summer and at Pemberley. Georgiana was perhaps four. She could not even say her name quite right. Mother hosted a picnic for the neighbors, and my sister was permitted to stay for a while. She really was such a well-behaved little one that no one noticed that she had wandered off.

“Before she was even missed, she emerged from the hedgerow with a snake in her chubby little hands. The ladies were shrieking, and my poor little sister burst into tears because it was such a friendly snake and no one appreciated it.”

Elizabeth could not laugh as she wanted in company, but she was almost in tears before he was done. “Oh, poor Miss Darcy!” she cried. “And it did not cure her of her interest?”

“No, she can be tenacious when she knows what she wants. She took it to heart when the Lord said to be harmless as a dove but wise as a serpent.”

Across the room, the young lady in question was deep in conversation with Mr. Averill, and with that in mind Elizabeth began to wonder if Mrs. Knightley’s interference would be necessary in the end. “And how do you think that will turn out?” she asked, with a subtle nod at the pair.

“Happily, without question. I do not think anything ends otherwise here. Emma would not permit it.”

Elizabeth kept her smile in place and her thoughts to herself. Perhaps Mrs. Knightley was a benevolent dictator, but a dictator she remained. “Well, for your sister’s sake I hope it ends well. Mr. Averill is almost as devoted as any gentleman I have ever seen.”

“Almost?”

“My brother Bingley was devoted to the point of distraction,” Elizabeth explained. “At the time my aunt Gardiner and I agreed that such general incivility was the very language of love.”

Darcy chuckled. “He has recovered in civility, but let us hope that does not mean his love has waned.”

“Certainly not!”

“Your sister’s health seems much improved since we met in Weymouth.”

“Yes, I—” There Elizabeth stopped, for a new thought had just occurred to her. They had come for Jane’s health, and if Jane’s health were improved, then…

“Miss Bennet?” Captain Darcy prompted, sounding concerned.

She shook herself and forced a smile. “It is nothing.”

He did not believe her; that much was plain. But she could not divulge to him or anyone else the dread now forming in her heart. She loved Highbury and Donwell better than any place she had lived since Longbourn. Bingley never stayed in one place for long, and it was impossible to imagine he would stay here simply because his sister fancied it. The season would begin, they would be off to London, and no living creature knew where they would go after that.

And the gentleman next to her—when would she see him? Once a year in town? Were they to dance a little and flirt a little and go their separate ways? Could she be satisfied with so little when she was so fond of him?

When she was in love with him?

The realization was more of a shock than it ought to have been, and vastly more unpleasant. That she was sitting next to him only made matters worse. How had she not seen this coming? How had she resisted all the little looks, the little comments from all around them? Even Miss Darcy had smiled over them a time or two. How could she be so doomed to blindness?

“Miss Bennet, you are not well,” Darcy pressed.

She could bear it no longer. “The fire—I am—I must get some air.”

She bolted up. He stood after her, but she rushed from the room without waiting for even the slightest civility.

Heedlessly she hurried from the room; she knew not where she went, nor did she care. Even alone in the cool corridor everything was too hot, too crowded for her jumbled thoughts. She was in love with him!—and he did not care, or not enough, or did care, or some stupidity would keep them apart, or—

A heavy footfall intruded upon the torrent in her heart, and she could not bear to look, to see if it was him or someone else. But it could be no one else. The man who approached her had spent his life at sea, not in drawing rooms where a soft step was a mark of gentility. He was a man of action. Of course he had come.

But his voice was gentle when he spoke. “Miss Bennet, forgive me. I know not how I upset you, but I do ask your forgiveness.”

She could not tell what he saw in her face when she turned around, but with the gentlest touch he brushed an errant curl back and she gasped.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, drawing impossibly near.

“Oh,” said she, full of feeling she could not voice, and he kissed her.

His was not the kiss of a man used to forfeits in parlor games, she thought idly. One hand cupped her cheek while the other went round her waist, holding her close. He proceeded slowly, every brush of his lips eager and tender in equal measure. Elizabeth, with her heart too full of its own revelation, responded with such fervor as could not but encourage him. Soon he had her pressed against the wall of a little window alcove, her fingers buried in his hair as they kissed wildly.

A flash of lightning and clap of thunder jolted them apart. Rain began to beat down on the window next to them, and in the subsequent, longer lightning strike Elizabeth saw the captain’s face properly. She had never seen desire so plainly writ upon a man’s face before, and she knew without a doubt that his eyes would haunt her memory for the rest of her life. “Elizabeth, I…”

His voice trailed off as she touched his face, tracing the faint scar which had first caught her attention that evening they met in Weymouth. Trembling, he rested his forehead against hers and whispered, “Dearest Elizabeth.”

A louder roll of thunder separated them entirely. “We—we ought to go back,” she managed.

“Of course,” Darcy replied, with a conscious look. He ran his hands over his hair and straightened his jacket, prompting her to do the same with her own clothes. Strangely she felt a little guilty over the encounter, but when she met his gaze, it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms once more.

They returned to the drawing room to find the party breaking up. Mrs. John Knightley was concerned about the weather, and Jane and Charles were eager to leave too. Amid the activity, Elizabeth thought she had escaped any suspicion of what had transpired, but then Mrs. John Knightley said, “Miss Bennet, are you sure you are well? There is a tea I always drink when I feel a little ill, and I know my sister can give it to you before you go, for I gave her some just a few days ago.”

Elizabeth felt sure she was blushing furiously as she declined. Mrs. John Knightley let her be, but just behind her Elizabeth saw Mr. Knightley, who had a curious look on his face as though he had just solved a mystery.

She suddenly wondered if dying from embarrassment were possible.

* * *

The next morning dawned stormy, but that was not what was wrong when Knightley awoke. He was alone in bed. In the course of their marriage Emma had never woken before him. It was dark in the room, but he could see that the door to the dressing room was ajar. Through it he heard the faint sound of sickness and the low murmur of a woman’s voice.

He got out of bed, threw his dressing gown on, and approached the door slowly. He saw Emma’s dressing gown still folded neatly where she had left it the night before, so he grabbed it on his way. Then when he was still a yard from the door, it opened, revealing a wan Emma on the other side.

“George,” she blurted out, and he knew it must be serious, for even now she hardly ever used his Christian name.

“Here,” he replied, holding out her dressing gown and helping her into it. “Come and sit with me, will you?”

She sat on the little settee before the empty hearth, and after lighting some candles he joined her. “Isabella thought Miss Bennet was unwell last night and offered her a certain tea, saying you had got some from her,” he began, gently pulling her close. “As _you_ are never ill, I found myself very curious as to why you had procured it from her.”

Emma’s hand moved over her abdomen. “It has only begun in the last week,” she said. “It seems too early for hope.”

Vaguely Knightley was aware that it had been some time since Emma’s courses had made a nuisance of themselves. “Have you spoken to Isabella?”

She nodded. “She was hopeful enough for both of us. She says it has always begun thus for her.”

Knightley wondered if she could feel the way his heart was beating. He knew she was right, that they ought to rein in their expectations, but how could he in the face of such a possibility? The subject of children had rarely been broached between them, and the silence had only heightened his longing to see their family grow. “Your maid was with you just now?” he asked. “She went for tea?”

“Yes. I… George, what if I am wrong? What if this all comes to naught?”

He kissed the top of her head, staying in that attitude for some time. He let his hand cover hers, over her abdomen. “Dear Emma,” he murmured. “Will you find it strange if I agree with Isabella?”

Her laughter bubbled up, which was what he had hoped. “It is in God’s hands,” he said. “But for the moment, I am very, very happy.” They stayed like that for a moment, then Knightley continued, “Come, I hear Blanchard returning. Have your tea, and when the rain abates I will take you to your sister. I think you have need of her.”

Emma sat up and offered him a small but genuine smile. “My dear Mr. Knightley.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Off you go,” he said with affection.

When he was alone again, he let out a long breath. For Emma’s sake he was swinging madly between relieved and concerned, and for his own sake his feelings were somehow even more jumbled. A child—he would be a father! He remembered Emma holding their nephews and nieces as babies, and upon seeing her with the last one, he had experienced the strongest wish that the child was theirs. And now, that fondest desire was so close.

He had to temper his anticipation. Much could go wrong in the coming months. But hope, he knew, was a stubborn thing. Hope would persist where reason had fled.

* * *

Darcy woke with a storm in his ears and Elizabeth in his memory. For a while he lay in bed—an unheard-of luxury for so much of his life—and considered the previous night’s turn of events. He had followed Emma’s advice in the summer and gone back to Pemberley, dancing every set at every ball, but truthfully, Elizabeth remained a fascination for him. No other woman could compare.

It was part of what propelled him to bring Georgiana to Donwell. What he told Averill was true—the child he remembered, chasing snakes in the garden with a pair of corgis right behind, had grown into a young woman of considerable depth. But he thought it would be a proper measure of Miss Bennet’s character to see how she interacted with Georgiana. He was more than happy to see the ready friendship blossoming between them, especially since meeting Elizabeth again had only confirmed the nascent feelings that had arisen in Weymouth.

He was vain enough to have believed before yesterday that Elizabeth Bennet reciprocated his feelings to some degree. She seemed to seek his company as often as he sought hers. Though their opinions often differed, their interests aligned enough to have an endless well of conversation between them. He had felt a connection to her almost instantly, but it was more than that. He loved her, and if he could be with her, he would be content with any peril or penury he might face in the future.

The storm was still raging, so he rose and went down for breakfast. Georgiana was already there, looking a little glum. “Georgiana, dear, surely a little rain cannot depress your spirits,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, seeming to rouse herself a little. “It is just—the weather has been so dry all these weeks, and now…”

Darcy smiled kindly as he sat down beside her. “I had a letter from Edmund the other day,” he said. “He says he and Eva will be in London before Christmas. He wanted to know if you will continue here or join them for the season.”

She blushed a little. “I… I know I ought to go to town.”

“Not if it displeases you. What little I have experienced of the season is a far sight too tedious for me.”

“It is not tedious to me, so much as unwelcome, I suppose. Our sister Eva is so good at what she does, and Edmund will be a brilliant MP, I am sure. But it is not for me.”

“You are young to have your mind made up.”

“You were younger when you went to sea.”

“That’s how I know you’re young now, Georgiana. I just would have you be sure. These decisions we make change the whole course of our lives. I saw too many men choose a life at sea on a whim and come to regret it long before they could leave it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Is this a hint about another decision I might find myself making before long?”

Darcy leaned in a little. “Take it however you like.”

“Then you should take care too,” Georgiana replied. “Although I would advise you not to wait _too_ long.”

“Very true.” He looked up at the windows, where he could see the rain still falling heavily. “But I fear I must wait a little while, at least until the rain clears.”

“But our cousin Knightley rode through the rain to Emma once,” Georgiana protested. “It was terribly romantic.”

“I’m sure it was,” Darcy said. “But Miss Bennet might think me mad, and that would not do at all.”


	8. In which there is no point in trying to keep a secret

The storm cleared late in the morning, and as soon as she was assured of its passing, Elizabeth bolted. Jane had been giving her looks all morning, but for once Elizabeth could not confide in her sister. She did not know what Jane would think of her behavior, and as she could not stop thinking about it and blushing about it, she had to get out of the house.

She trudged off into the woods, with pangs of guilt coming from every direction. Jane was feeling better; this ought to have been a source of pleasure. Instead it brought a dread of leaving. Elizabeth had not been so upset by the notion of leaving a place since leaving Longbourn.

She did love Highbury and Donwell, and Glen Eyrie was a lovely home, but it was not just the place which held her affections. In the light of day she was almost furious with herself, but she could not think why. Elizabeth knew she had been restless with her situation for some time. Jane and Charles were wonderful and they always had been, but Elizabeth knew neither Jane nor any of her sisters could give her what she wanted: her own home, her own family, her own _place_. It had been true for some time. She had ignored the source of her ennui because no cure existed.

But now she knew. She loved Captain Darcy and wanted him desperately. He left her in very little doubt of his feelings. Once the haze of embarrassment and confusion had worn off, Elizabeth found herself exceedingly frustrated with the man for kissing her and leaving her thus in suspense. She was certain, completely certain, that he was not the sort of man who would toy with a lady’s heart for his own amusement, but the timing of the storm could not have been calculated better to vex her.

She had started off from Glen Eyrie without a clear notion of where she was going; habit took her on the nearer path to Donwell. Upon reaching the stream, she remembered what Mr. Averill had said about it the day he showed her the route. After a night and morning of rain, the stream was very, very full, brimming its banks and rushing past at great speed.

The sensible choice would have been to turn back, but Elizabeth was not in a mood to be sensible. She wanted to be going, making her own unhindered choices. The stepping stones she had so often traipsed over were still visible—well, most of them—and her petticoats were already dirty, so she set about to cross.

She was halfway across the stream before the folly of her decision was made manifest. Between the third and fourth stones there was quite a gap. In leaping from one to the next, something gave way. Her foot gained purchase on the large rock in the middle of the stream, but the one she had just been standing on slipped. For a moment she struggled to keep her balance. Even after both feet were firmly planted on the rock, she kept her arms out to steady herself as she felt the tingling sensation of danger narrowly averted.

But her difficulty was far from over. The next stone was completely underwater, and the one after it was a yard away, too far for her to reach at all safely. Elizabeth looked over her shoulder and saw what had caused her to slip. The last rock had capsized as she stepped off it, and now instead of a smooth surface, a sharp edge was sticking up from the water.

The rock she stood on was far too slippery for her to try to push the last one back in place, either with her foot or her hands. A parasol might have done the job, but of course she had left that at home. Turning back was out of the question. Above her a large branch stretched over the water. If she could grab hold of it, she might be able to swing to the rock in front of her, but it was no use. She could not reach the branch, even standing on her toes.

For some minutes she stood there, wondering how long it would be before Bingley came looking for her. As muddy as the day was, it was too much to hope that anyone else was foolish enough to take this route on foot. There was no going forward and no going back. She was not in danger, precisely, just stuck.

While she walked, she had not noticed how cool the day was, but now the damp chill was starting to cling to her. She was just starting to reassess the possibilities of going back when a twig snapped nearby. “Hallo!” she called, desperately hoping it was a person and not an animal—were there any predators in Surrey? “Is someone there?”

Out from the trees on the Abbey side of the stream emerged a man, and Elizabeth could have cried upon seeing his face. “Captain!”

“What the devil?” Captain Darcy replied. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet, but what are you doing?”

She held her hands out to either side, as though the answer were obvious. “As you see, I am waiting here for five or six days until the water recedes.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Well, that won’t do at all. I was hoping to dance with you tonight at the Coles’ party.”

“Oh! I forgot about the Coles’ party.” She looked around. “I suppose I shall have to get across somehow. It would not do to snub them simply because I got stuck here.”

By that point Darcy was standing on the bank of the stream. “If I give you my hand, do you think you can cross?”

Their eyes met, and suddenly his words had a second meaning. Her heart was beating stupidly fast as she nodded. It was a great leap, but with a hand to help she was willing to try.

“Good,” he said. “You will probably have some momentum. Do not try to stop it. Hold fast and I will come with you.”

She nodded again and watched, fascinated, as he reached to brace himself on the branch which had been too high for her. With his other arm, he reached for her over the water, and he met her gaze again. “Just like dancing, Miss Bennet.”

With that, she gathered her skirts, leaned forward to take his hand, and counted to three.

At the fateful count she jumped. Her right foot landed on the stone but stayed only a moment. She let go of her skirts and grabbed his shoulder instead, and her left foot hit the soft earth on the other side of the stream. Darcy let go of the tree and spun them away from the water’s edge and she laughed, for he was right. It was just like dancing.

He laughed with her. He was holding her as he had the night before, and when she had caught her breath again, she did what seemed only natural and just. She rose up a little on her toes and kissed him soundly.

“I shall have to help you escape minor peril more often, if that is how you will thank me,” he murmured when their lips parted. “You are shivering, my—my dear.” His hesitant endearment warmed her as much as the great coat he draped over her shoulders. He then gently propelled her forward. “I am taking you to Donwell, and then I am driving you home.”

“Where were you going?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly remembering that he had not come there to rescue her. “I should not like to keep you.”

“That would be impossible, for I was coming to see you.” She blushed, and he took her hand. “My sister advised me not to wait any longer than necessary, and she is wise beyond her years.”

“Wise as a serpent.”

He chuckled. “Yes.” He slowed and stopped, and he looked at her tentatively. “You know—you _must_ know that I love you.”

“After last night I had my suspicions, yes.”

“And you will marry me?” he said, his voice light with hope.

“Oh, my dear captain,” she replied, “yes, I will marry you.”

They kissed for long, delightful, exquisite moments, until something like sanity returned and they continued on their way. Though the air about them was sharply cool, the two lovers ambled along as though it were the brightest day of summer. If either had been asked to describe that walk to Donwell, they surely would have claimed sunshine and birds’ songs, rather than the clouds and whistling winds of reality.

“I know there is much we must discuss,” Darcy said, when he could be sensible again. “I have made an offer to you without a home of my own. My brother told me I should consider Pemberley my home, but I think I should prefer a place that is ours, and not dependent on a brother’s good grace.”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “Is your brother the mercurial sort?”

“Not at all. You will love him as well as your brother Bingley, I am sure. But do you take my meaning?”

She nodded. “I have spent too long living in my sister’s house. I love her dearly, but it is trying, being a perpetual guest.”

“Then we shall find a home,” Darcy replied with all confidence. “I suppose it is Mr. Bingley I should speak to.”

“Yes,” she replied absently. Then something abruptly occurred to her and she blurted out, “No.”

“No? I should speak with someone else?”

“No—I mean, yes, but not—we cannot be engaged yet, not publicly.”

“I do not understand,” Darcy said, looking hurt.

“The Coles’ party! I am supposed to keep Mr. Thomas Suckling away from your sister, and I cannot very well do that if I am known to be engaged to you. And I have been here long enough to know that if you ask my brother for his blessing, everyone at that party will know before the soup is served.”

“That does present a problem,” he replied, his brow furrowed. “I do not like secrecy, not in this.”

“I do not like it either,” Elizabeth said. “But it is for a noble cause, I think.”

“Perhaps I should encourage Averill to speak. Or persuade Georgiana to pack a snake in her reticule tonight and let her fend the man off herself.”

That prompted Elizabeth to giggle almost uncontrollably. This Darcy evidently found so alluring that a moment later Elizabeth found herself in his arms again, thoroughly kissed and left breathless and wanting.

“Oh, for a squad of Marines,” Darcy murmured, “to run the Sucklings out of Highbury.”

“Dear Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said fondly. “Do you know, when Mr. Knightley introduced you, I was not sure that was your Christian name or if you were Fitzwilliam-Darcy all together.”

“‘Captain Fitzwilliam-Darcy’ would be terribly inconvenient.”

“That is exactly what I thought.”

They were within sight of Donwell Abbey now, so Elizabeth reluctantly gave up his coat and his hand. It took only a few minutes to reach the stables and have his curricle ready for them. From there it seemed almost no time at all passed before they were at Glen Eyrie. “This will not last forever, Darcy,” she said. “And not many get to claim a secret engagement for the greater good.”

“You are incorrigible, my love.”

“I know,” Elizabeth replied with a grin, and she was off.

She entered the house with a much lighter heart than when she left it. A moment later Jane was upon her. “Charles was about to go looking for you. Is everything well?”

“Everything in the whole world, Jane.”

“Lizzy?” Jane pressed.

Elizabeth only smiled and escaped to her room, where she could be as happy as she liked without further arousing the suspicions of her sister.

* * *

Darcy drove back to Donwell in a more contemplative frame of mind than one might have guessed. He was happy, certainly, but his happiness was better known than felt. He would very much have liked to follow Elizabeth into Glen Eyrie and speak to her brother. Nothing but his sister’s happiness and his beloved’s wish could have kept him from doing so.

Georgiana was loitering near the west entrance, where Darcy came in from the stables, and was upon him in a moment. “I thought you only went out walking, but then Carson said you had returned and taken the curricle. What happened?” she asked.

“I discovered Miss Bennet, stranded on the stepping stones in the middle of the stream, petticoats six inches deep in mud, and had to rescue her,” he said. “It was expedient to bring her back here and drive her home.”

His sister’s face lit up. “How romantic! What did she say?”

“What do you mean, what did she say?”

“When you proposed, you goose.”

Darcy clapped his hand lightly over Georgiana’s mouth and steered her into the empty still room. When he had shut the door, he said, “I have not spoken to her brother yet. This conversation cannot leave this room.”

“Well, why haven’t you spoken to Mr. Bingley yet?” she said, a little petulantly. “It is not as though he will deny you. He says he hardly ever refuses a man taller than him, and you’re a head taller.”

“Georgiana, Georgiana, dear,” Darcy replied, laughing and pulling her into an embrace. “Dear, dear sister.”

“What is happening? Is someone dying?”

“Are you so little used to a brother’s embrace, then?” Darcy asked. “My dear sister, the problem is you. You and your surplus of suitors.”

“What?” Georgiana cried, backing a step or two away. “No—no, no, no, no. What are you doing? What is _she_ doing?”

“We are trying to help you escape the attentions of the younger Mr. Suckling,” he replied. “It was Emma’s notion. Miss Bennet agreed to help at least a week ago.”

“I can handle him,” she said, anger flashing in her eyes. “Do you think I don’t know how to handle unwanted attention? I am a Darcy, and I have thirty thousand pounds. If you think Mr. Thomas Suckling is the first man whose attentions I have had to endure and keep at bay…”

“Georgie—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. Then she took a deep breath and gathered herself. “I am sorry. My life may not have involved the derring-do that the French required of you, but I assure you, Fitzwilliam, that I have fought battles of my own.”

Her vehemence startled him. “I—I am sorry, Georgiana.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Emma and Miss Bennet only mean to help,” he went on, tentatively. “They ought to have spoken to you, I suppose, but they want to help you. And Mr. Averill.” Georgiana blushed a little, and Darcy decided to pursue that point. “It would all be easier if he would speak.”

“No,” she blurted out, to his surprise. “It is not—I—I—I do like him. I like him better than any other man I have ever met, but I will not rush into anything. And I like that he does not rush either. We are talking about the rest of our lives! And you have not exactly rushed with Miss Bennet, have you? I think you knew in Weymouth you wanted to marry her, but you waited. You spent some time apart and then you made your choice, when you were sure.”

He nodded, remembering their conversation from that morning. “Then you will go to London, I think.”

“Distasteful as it is, I think I ought to. I _will_ come back, and see to it he knows that.”

Darcy sighed and opened the still room door. As they walked out, arm in arm, he said, “How did you grow so wise, little sister?”

“By first realizing I was very foolish.”

Though it was a paradox, Darcy thought he understood.

* * *

Elizabeth did not linger at her dressing table that night. Now that she was assured of her future she needed hardly any time at all to make herself ready for the Coles’ party. Joy had given her a kind of careless glow; her humblest gown would have been suitable for the grandest house because of it.

Jane said as much as Elizabeth helped her. “You were very upset this morning, and now here you are!” Jane said. “I have not seen you looking so well in ages.”

“Highbury agrees with me,” Elizabeth replied, resolved to be cryptic.

“I do not think it is Highbury,” Jane continued. 

Elizabeth did not know very well how to lie to her sister, and she feared she could not keep her countenance. Jane always had water at hand these days for her cough, so Elizabeth poured herself a glass to give herself a moment to think. But Jane was, for once, more cunning. She sent the maid out to ask a question of Nurse Lane, and as soon as the sisters were alone, she said, “Charles thinks Captain Darcy must have spoken to you.”

Elizabeth had been taking a sip of water at that moment, and she was so startled that she started to choke. Jane went on, unperturbed. “Of course, Charles and I are agreed that if the captain had spoken to you in that way, he would have spoken to your brother about it.”

By then Elizabeth had managed to swallow properly but still had to clear her throat before she could speak. “ _Charles_ thinks?”

“It is not as though he is inexperienced at this, Lizzy. He saw both Mrs. Hurst and Lady Macintire married, not to mention our sisters.”

“Yes, but,” Elizabeth said, sinking into a chair, “what gave it away?”

“I think it was your singing in the book room which alerted him to the possibility.”

“Jane, Jane, you cannot tell this to anyone, not even Charles,” Elizabeth said, almost sounding frantic even to her own ears. “Do I have your word?”

“Goodness, Lizzy, whyever can you not—”

“It is for his sister. Mrs. Knightley asked me to help keep Mr. Thomas Suckling away from Miss Darcy and I promised to help. At the very least, I must not be known to be engaged to Captain Darcy tonight.”

Jane was smiling broadly by the end of this speech. “What a scrape you have got yourself into, Lizzy. Lydia would call it a good joke.” Elizabeth shot her the sternest look she could manage, which naturally did no good whatsoever. “I will keep your secret, but you must tell Charles yourself, and do it tonight. Wait until after the party, but no longer.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, letting out a long breath, which went a long way in restoring her equilibrium.

* * *

Emma was, in fact, so ill through the day that Knightley was of a mind to send the Darcys to the Coles’ without them. But Emma rallied as the time came to dress. Truly, she was looking rather radiant when she left her dressing table that evening. “My dear Emma,” Knightley murmured to her, “I have never seen you looking lovelier.”

“I only hope the carriage ride does not disagree with me,” she replied, in a decidedly less romantic tone.

“We could always walk.”

“Walk!”

“Indeed. Why should anyone think it disgraceful?”

Emma let out a testy sigh, and Knightley kissed her cheek.

Their cousins appeared before long, and as the carriage was waiting, they were soon off. On the way, however, they turned at the vicarage lane. “Oh, I hope you do not mind,” Knightley said to the rest. “I offered Mr. Averill a seat in our carriage, for it will be very cold in a curricle tonight.”

No objections were raised, Mr. Averill was soon in his seat, and they were off again. Emma and Mr. Averill carried the conversation most of the way there. Knightley thought his wife was perhaps trying to keep her mind off other matters; when they arrived he found he was not far from the truth. When he helped her down from the carriage, he saw a moment’s exhaustion on her face. “My dear?” he asked. “Do you need—”

“A chair that does not move,” she replied. “That is all.”

“Then that is easily got.”

This tête-à-tête caused them to be the last of their party to enter the house. Georgiana was on Mr. Averill’s arm, with Darcy behind them. From this distance there was no making out what anyone was saying, but Knightley did see his young cousin look sharply at the vicar, then smile shyly. That was promising.

But it was the other Darcy who roused Knightley’s attention as the party were called to the table for dinner. Georgiana was seated between the vicar and the captain; on the captain’s other side was Miss Bennet, which came as no surprise. Miss Bennet was looking well tonight, exceedingly well. It struck Knightley as the look of a lady in love, love triumphant. She and Darcy were speaking to each other less than usual, a fact which stood out for its oddity. Were they keeping a secret? Knightley thought it was odd if they were, but he was nearly certain that once or twice, Darcy was holding Miss Bennet’s hand under the table.

Mrs. Weston saw it too. As the pianoforte was being opened that evening, she smiled and sat beside him. “If I remember rightly, you saw Frank and Jane’s attachment before the rest of us,” she said quietly. “Am I wrong for thinking I see another secret?”

“If you are wrong, then so am I.”

“Can you think of why they would be trying to hide it? Especially since they hide it so ill.”

Knightley opened his mouth to speak, but then the group at the pianoforte caught their attention. Miss Darcy was ready to sing, and Mr. Averill was near, but Mr. Thomas Suckling pushed his way into the scene with a too-eager offer to turn pages, or indeed, to sing with Miss Darcy should she choose a duet.

Knightley was half-ready to intervene, but Miss Bennet was quicker. With her sweet, arch smile she begged a moment of Mr. Thomas Suckling’s time in explaining a matter he had mentioned at the table. But to Knightley’s surprise, Miss Darcy said, “Miss Bennet, I think my brother and Mr. Averill could explain it much better.”

Miss Bennet was caught off-guard too. “Are you—do you think so?”

“Mr. Suckling has expressed a desire to sing, and I have the perfect duet here,” Georgiana said.

Miss Bennet leaned in, and her eyes got comically large as she read the title of the piece Georgiana had selected. Then she leaned in to say something, and with a wicked smile she led Mr. Averill away. 

Georgiana looked at her fellow guests and said, “I shall play the opening scene of _Il matrimonio segreto_ , and sing the part of Carolina. Mr. Thomas Suckling shall sing the part of Paolino, if that is acceptable to him.”

The last was offered almost as a question to the man himself. Knightley had a terrible feeling of what would happen next, but Mr. Thomas blundered right into it headlong.

Knightley remembered when Frank Churchill had invited himself into a duet with Emma. At least he had musical skill. The younger Mr. Suckling had no idea of his lack. He would probably do well enough with simple folk songs, but Georgiana had chosen a duet well beyond his abilities. It struck Knightley that she had done this intentionally. It was not cruel, necessarily, but by playing and singing on no matter how her partner struggled, she was demonstrating quite clearly that she was out of his reach.

When the song was over, Knightley applauded with the rest and moved to his wife’s side. Mr. Averill quietly brought Mr. Thomas Suckling a glass of wine. Mr. Thomas took the hint and retired to a chair, leaving the vicar to turn pages as Georgiana began to play Bach to soothe the audience.

“Emma, I fear your plan was unneeded,” Knightley murmured, taking her hand.

“So I see. I must confess, I am pleased she can fend for herself.”

“Are you feeling better than before?”

“I am indeed.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “I am glad.”

“Listen to the music, Mr. Knightley,” she replied. “You’ll not hear finer in Highbury.”

She was right, so he turned back to listen to Miss Darcy, quite full of contentment.

* * *

Excerpted, from Miss Georgiana Darcy to Lady Eva Darcy:

You told me once, after that misadventure in Ramsgate, that men are the most infuriating creatures. I did not think my own brother could be counted in that number. You have not met her, but I wager you know just as well as I that he is in love with Miss B. He has proposed, and been accepted, yet they have chosen not to announce it. Their reason, you ask? Me!

In my last I wrote you of Mr. TS. (Your advice on that score was excellent, by the way.) F and Miss B, along with Emma, concocted a scheme to keep Mr. S away from me. As though I am a delicate flower needing protection from every little breeze! It is enough to drive a woman to Bedlam.

Hopefully by the time you receive this letter, the charade will be at an end and we can all laugh about it at their wedding breakfast. In the meantime, perhaps you ought to put some one or two scolding words in the post for my brother, in case this drags on longer than any of us would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in the opera mentioned in the last scene:
> 
> _Il matrimonio segreto_ is a 1792 comic opera by Domenico Cimarosa, based on the English play _The Clandestine Marriage_ by George Colman the Elder and David Garrick, itself inspired by William Hogarth’s series of satirical paintings _Marriage A-la-Mode_. The story involves Carolina, the younger daughter of a wealthy merchant, trying to fend off the marital interest of a count because she’s not interested in him… and because she’s secretly married to her father’s secretary, Paolino.
> 
> Given the threads in this chapter of Georgiana dealing with an unwanted suitor and Darcy and Elizabeth’s less-than-successful attempt to hide their secret engagement, it was impossible to resist the reference. The duet in particular would require some considerable skill, far beyond what could reasonably be expected from a young man with little or no formal training.


	9. In which the fateful question (no, not that one) is asked

When they had returned to Glen Eyrie, Elizabeth stopped her brother and sister before they could go above stairs. “There is something we should talk about,” she said, for she had promised Jane. “Could we speak in your study, Charles?”

“Of course,” he said.

If he was surprised that Jane followed Elizabeth into the room, he did not show it. But before he could close the door, they heard a commotion in the foyer of the house. He went back out, leaving the door open, and Jane and Elizabeth stood in the doorway to see what transpired. The front door stood open now too. “Thompson, what is happening?” Charles asked.

“Forgive me, sir,” the butler replied. “A rider has come, and I do not—”

A moment later the rider was entering the house, and Elizabeth clutched her sister’s arm. It was Captain Darcy.

“Captain!” Bingley cried. “Is something the matter at Donwell?”

“No, no, and I do apologize for coming in such a state,” the captain said. “But if I could have a moment of your time…”

Charles ushered him back to the study, where the ladies quickly got out of the doorway. Then he shut the door firmly and turned his attention to the captain. “Now, see here,” Charles said, “your coming here at this time of night, Captain, is the kind of thing even the best of servants will talk about, especially after attentions so particular as those you have paid to my sister, and I will not have her fine reputation sullied by any rumor of—”

Elizabeth had never seen him like this, and she wanted to laugh. “Charles, Charles,” she interrupted.

He blinked several times and looked at her. “Yes, Lizzy?”

“Captain Darcy asked me to marry him this morning, and I accepted,” she said. “That is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You were going to speak to them?” Darcy said in some surprise.

Elizabeth blushed. “Jane told me she and Charles had already as good as guessed the truth, and she told me I could not in good conscience keep it from my brother any longer.”

“My sister was adamant that we not postpone our happiness on her account,” Darcy replied, “so I came, to speak with you and your brother.”

“Well, it is fortunate we are all in the same place,” Charles said dryly. “I am not pleased to know there was even a day’s secrecy in all of this.”

“It was my fault, Charles,” Elizabeth said, before Darcy could try to take the blame himself.

“Elizabeth—”

“We ought not to have kept it from anyone, but as it stands, I think we did a poor job of it.”

There was a moment of brittle silence before Charles cleared his throat. “Jane, Captain, would you give us some privacy?”

The pair were surprised by the request, but acceded gracefully. Once they were alone, Charles took Elizabeth by the shoulders and said, “I think you have been unhappy for a little while. Maybe unhappy is the wrong word, but you have wanted something more than Jane and I have been able to offer.”

“You have always been the kindest and best brother I could ever have,” Elizabeth replied, with more feeling evident than she might have planned. “Please do not imagine you have been anything less.”

“I only want to know that you are sure, Lizzy. You know, I think you are my favorite of all my sisters.”

“I am sure, Charles. I love him, and he loves me.”

Charles nodded. “That is all I need to know.”

He kissed her cheek before letting the others back into the study. “I assume you were both listening at the door,” he said. “Jane, wish your sister joy.”

After a few tears and embraces, Elizabeth found herself at her captain’s side, his arm around her waist. “Remember, Lizzy, I predicted this,” Charles said. “I told you to marry a navy man.”

“Did you really?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, and she rejected the notion soundly.”

“Oh! Do not remind me, Charles,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “A good memory in such an instance is unpardonable.”

“I should very much like to know,” Darcy told her.

“It was before I knew you,” she replied. “Before I had any notion of you, so you were not the notion I rejected.”

Upon this pronouncement Darcy looked rather like he wanted to kiss her, and Jane as though she might cry, so Charles changed the subject. “Well, Captain, as we are to be brothers, let me give you some brotherly advice.”

“Yes?”

“If you can catch Mr. Averill in time, you may have the banns read tomorrow and save yourselves full a week before the wedding may occur.”

Darcy checked his watch at once, as though calling on Mr. Averill were plausible that night, and Elizabeth could not stop laughing for some time.

Darcy stayed only long enough to drink to the toast Charles offered for him and Elizabeth. Once he was gone, Charles shooed the ladies out of his study. “I am sure you want to talk,” he said, “and I have letters to answer which ought to keep me out of your way for a while.”

The sisters went up the stairs arm-in-arm, as of old. “Miss Darcy routed you tonight,” Jane said, once they were in her sitting room.

“That she did,” Elizabeth replied. “I am glad to know she could handle the trouble herself.”

“A girl like her must have attracted similar attention in town.”

“Yes, such a handsome and clever girl would catch the eye of any number of young men even if she had no dowry, and she has a substantial one.”

“Papa would have laughed over this for weeks,” Jane said, with a wistful smile.

“That he would,” Elizabeth agreed. “I doubt he would have had much sympathy for Miss Darcy, though. ‘Too many suitors is hardly a problem for young ladies, is it?’”

“True. You might have agreed with him once.”

“I suppose I might have, but somewhere along the way I seem to have lost my appetite for such pursuits.” She had thought about this since her conversation with Darcy about her old hobby of sketching characters, trying to determine why she gave it up. She was almost decided that it was to do with Charlotte’s marriage. Elizabeth was shocked by it at the time, and in some ways she still could not understand it, but over the last few years she had concluded that people were not so easily read as she used to believe.

“So what of you?” Jane asked. “What will you do when you are married?”

“I hardly know. We will find a house, but we have barely had a chance to discuss it. We have not even managed to discuss any financial matters.”

“And will you want to go to London soon for wedding clothes? Aunt Gardiner will be pleased to help with that.”

“Yes. I suppose I might also meet some of Fitzwilliam’s family if they are in town.” Elizabeth paused, frowning. “Although I remember now, I have already met his aunt. Did I tell you that? Mrs. Knightley told me months ago that Lady Catherine de Bourgh is his aunt, on his mother’s side.”

“No! What a strange coincidence.”

“That must mean I have met his cousin too.”

“I remember now, the English colonel with the Irish name.”

“The captain must be named for his mother’s family.”

Jane smiled at her fondly. “Will you always refer to him as ‘the captain’?”

Elizabeth blushed a little. “I know it sounds formal, but it does not feel formal to me, not anymore.”

“Well, it will prevent him from ever being referred to as a younger brother would be.”

And Elizabeth would be _Mrs. Darcy_ before long. It was enough to make her heart race.

“I hear Charles coming up the stairs,” Jane said. “I will be sorry to lose you, Lizzy, but your happiness will be the greatest comfort.”

Elizabeth remembered her father saying something like that on the eve of Jane’s wedding. The memory brought on another thought. “Do you think Papa would have liked him?”

“I do,” Jane said immediately. “I really do.”

* * *

They did not, in fact, have banns read the following morning, but an announcement of a kind was made. Darcy was waiting outside the church when the Glen Eyrie party arrived, and instead of sitting in the Donwell pew, he sat with Elizabeth. Afterward, when the congregants spilled into the crisp air of late autumn, they stood together for at least a quarter hour receiving the congratulations of the parish. Jane invited the Donwell party to Glen Eyrie that evening, along with Mr. Averill, and many matters were under discussion at the table and after.

“My brother’s family should have arrived in London yesterday,” Darcy told Elizabeth. “I thought I would ride there tomorrow and give Edmund and Eva the news in person. I have had few opportunities to share any kind of news outside of letters.”

“I cannot blame you, then,” Elizabeth replied. “Jane and I spoke last night of going to town to buy wedding clothes, but we did not speak of when we would do that.”

“I will show my ignorance, for I do not care much whether such things are got before or after we are married.”

“Oh, let Miss Bennet get everything before!” Emma cried. “Isabella bought most of the trim and fabrics for me before Mr. Knightley and I were married, but I did not have much made up beforehand. As a result I think I still have yards of lace unused.”

“A great tragedy, I assure you,” Knightley put in, though he was smiling.

Elizabeth had looked a little tense while Emma was speaking, but Knightley seemed to have put her more at ease. “Well, since we do not yet know where we shall live, it probably is best to have everything made up in advance,” she said. “I should not like to be carrying spangled muslin and Brussels lace hither and yon while we make up our minds.”

“I do not think the captain is much like me, Lizzy,” Bingley said. “I imagine within a twelvemonth you will be settled for good, and your lace may be safely stored away.”

“Sooner, if we can agree upon a place,” Darcy replied. A thought was forming in his mind, but he was unwilling to give voice to it yet, not in front of the whole party.

After the ladies had left the table and the port was drunk, Bingley asked Darcy into his study. “I know it has only been a day since everything was settled, but there are some practical matters which must be sorted,” Bingley said, as they sat down before the fire. “Captain, I have heard any number of rumors of prizes you took, so I cannot venture a guess as to your fortune. But all the reports say you did quite well.”

“I—yes. The _Fortuna_ was aptly named.” Darcy glanced at his hands, wondering why everything on land had to be so layered in manners. “Forgive me. This is not the most elegant of subjects. Perhaps we should simply be forthright.”

“Very well.”

“I took just short of eighty thousand pounds,” Darcy explained. “I have a further thirty thousand as an inheritance—the same as my sister’s dowry, I believe.”

Bingley’s eyes widened. “You have done very well for yourself,” he said. Then he seemed to shake himself. “Well, Lizzy has a thousand pounds inherited from her mother, same as all her sisters. She does not know that she will have another five thousand, as a bequest from me.”

“That is generous of you, sir, but if you are doing this on my account—”

Bingley held up his hand to forestall the protest. “She is my daughter’s godmother, and without her help I do not know what I would have done, when Jane and Birdie were both so ill. She is very precious to Jane and me, and I felt this was the least I could do.” Perhaps fearing he had spoken more warmly than he meant to, Bingley busied himself looking at his watch. “I imagine you will see an attorney when you go to town, for the marriage settlement?”

“Yes. My brother’s attorney handles my affairs.”

“Excellent. I think we will follow in a day or two. If you are anything like me, you will not want to wait long, especially if the delay is over bonnets and gowns.”

Darcy smiled. “And what of your plans?”

“Jane is improved, so we will be in town at least part of the season. After that I do not know. We have been invited to spend part of the summer with my youngest sister in Scotland.”

“What will you do with this place, then?”

“Oh, find someone to purchase the lease, I suppose. It is a convenient distance from town. I am surprised it sat empty for so long.”

They rejoined the rest of the party just as Georgiana was sitting down to play. Normally Darcy did not like to talk through his sister’s performance, but he needed the relative privacy to speak to Elizabeth. “We were discussing financial matters,” Darcy told her. “I will have to speak to my attorney before we have any specifics, but I have had a thought about where we might live. Bingley says he and your sister likely will not return to Glen Eyrie after the season, and I wondered if you would like to return here.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, but she said nothing. Darcy took her hand. “We need not make a decision right away,” he said quickly. “I would like to spend some time with my family, that they may get to know you as well. It will likely be months before we must decide. But think about it, please.”

“Of course,” she replied, and she offered a bit of a smile. “But will you purchase the first available house you have seen since coming ashore?”

Darcy leaned closer and said, “Well, my dear, I am marrying the first unmarried lady I met since coming ashore, and I believe that will serve me well.”

He had the pleasure of seeing her cheeks turn bright pink.

Some decisions were made that night; the Bingleys and Elizabeth would come to town on Tuesday. Darcy left Monday morning, Georgiana with him. They arrived in Cavendish Square by noon, and their coming was a surprise to their brother’s family. “Fitzwilliam, we did not expect you,” Edmund said, as they removed coats and hats. “Is everything well?”

“Entirely,” Fitzwilliam replied in an easy tone.

“Very good. Georgiana, it is good to see you. Have you tired of Surrey?”

“Not at all, Edmund,” she said.

“Henson, will you find Mrs. Foyle and let her know my brother and sister have arrived?” Edmund said to the footman standing nearby. “I am sure they would like to refresh themselves.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the footman exited, a door closed above stairs, and soon Lady Eva was in view. “Edmund, dear, what is—my goodness, Georgiana, Fitzwilliam! Has someone died?”

Fitzwilliam found himself laughing, remembering Georgiana assuming the same. Edmund ushered them to the sitting room. “Well?” he prompted.

“I shall come to the point, then,” Fitzwilliam replied. “I am going to be married.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Eva cried. “Georgiana has been counting the days until this in her letters. When shall we meet Miss Bennet? Shall we go to Donwell or will she visit us here? You are here for a license? How long until the wedding?”

Fitzwilliam did not know his sister-in-law very well, but this burst of questions made Georgiana laugh. “She is coming tomorrow!” she said. “I think you will both like her very much.”

“If she makes our brother happy, Georgiana, then I see no other way,” Edmund said. “Come, Eva, let them go up and rest a little while, and afterward you may ask questions—though I recommend one at a time.”

Eva shot him a look, but the younger siblings left the room, all smiles. “So you have been reporting on me to Eva,” Darcy said as they ascended the stairs.

“Naturally.”

“Then you will not mind that I have written her about your _friend_ in Surrey.”

Georgiana looked at him sharply, but her voice was deceptively even. “Of course not. That would be the height of hypocrisy.”

“Should I be concerned about retaliation?”

“Why, that would not be ladylike at all.”

* * *

Wednesday morning brought the Bingleys and Elizabeth to a stately house in Cavendish Square. Captain Darcy was coming down the stairs rapidly as a maid took their hats and coats. “No need, Foyle,” he said to the butler, who was just asking them to come with him. “I will show them the way. No need to stand on ceremony just now.”

“Very good, Captain.”

Darcy greeted them all warmly and pressed a kiss to Elizabeth’s hand. “Will you come?” he asked. “My brother and sister-in-law are eager to meet you.”

He led them back up to the family’s sitting room, where Georgiana was waiting with a handsome couple. The introductions were all made, and soon Lady Eva urged them all to sit while she served them tea. “Between the letters we have had from Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, I feel I know you a little already, Miss Bennet,” she said. “I understand you come from a large family of girls.”

“Yes, Jane and I are the eldest of five sisters.”

“There were four in my family, along with a little brother whom I am afraid we have coddled scandalously,” Lady Eva replied.

“That is one way of putting it,” Mr. Darcy said into his cup of tea.

Elizabeth looked at her brother-to-be in amazement. The captain smiled at her and leaned in. “I think Edmund is still sore about a matter involving Lord Stantham and a horse.”

“ _That_ is one way of putting it!” Lady Eva repeated. “Every time my brother visits, Edmund speaks to the grooms about which horses his lordship is permitted to ride if the fancy takes him.”

“He almost killed himself _and_ my best hunter,” Edmund grumbled. “I never imagined sisters could be less troublesome than a brother.”

“That is because your brother has been at sea since you were both boys,” Elizabeth said mildly.

The elder brother looked startled by this. “I had not looked at it that way.”

“I have a difficult time imagining Fitzwilliam in any sort of mischief,” she continued, “but perhaps the navy merely drilled it out of him.”

“Oh, Edmund could tell you stories, Miss Bennet,” Lady Eva said.

“And I shall, for withholding such information would make me the worst of brothers,” Edmund added cheerfully.

“That is very true, I think,” Elizabeth replied, with her sweetest smile, while Darcy sighed.

From there Elizabeth thought she could fit very well into his family. Edmund had more of a stately air about him than Darcy did. Georgiana seemed a little more in awe of him too, doubtless because he was her guardian and had stood in her father’s place for some years. She seemed very close to Lady Eva, though, and that inclined Elizabeth to think well of the woman too.

Plans were made for shopping the next day, and Darcy would acquire the license. Elizabeth and Jane and Charles would come back to Cavendish Square for dinner afterward. Lady Eva wanted them to stay that evening, but they were already engaged to dine with the Gardiners, along with the captain. As Elizabeth and her brother and sister returned to their house to change for dinner, she asked, “Well?”

“They seem very down-to-earth,” Charles remarked. “Mr. Darcy is a little reserved, I suppose, but not unwelcoming. And Lady Eva seemed determined to like you.”

“Better than the alternative, certainly,” Elizabeth said, remembering how unpleasant Lady Macintire had been before she got her title.

“I like them both,” said Jane, “and I think you will be content to have them as family.”

From anyone else it might have seemed tepid praise indeed, but Elizabeth remembered a conversation she had with her sister some weeks ago, and it was all she could do not to cry. “I believe you are right, Jane. I believe I will be even as content as you and Charles.”

Charles laughed. “That is a high standard, Lizzy. I wish you all the luck in the world in achieving it.”

* * *

Advent was half spent before the Darcy siblings and the Glen Eyrie household returned to Surrey. Darcy had missed his cousins and the neighborhood during his absence, but he had decidedly not missed the visits from the Highbury vicarage. On the morning after returning, Darcy was to go to Glen Eyrie, as he and Elizabeth were to receive Mr. Averill to speak about their upcoming wedding ceremony. But just as the time was drawing near for him to set out, the housekeeper announced the arrival of Mr. Thomas Suckling, and he decided to send a note to Elizabeth apologizing for a slight delay.

“Ah, Miss Darcy, Captain Darcy, let me be the first to welcome you back!” Mr. Thomas said, which explained why he had come unusually early. “Though I too am a guest in this neighborhood, I think you feel, as I do, that there is something delightful in this place.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Weston were kind enough to call on us yesterday, and the Coles as well,” Darcy said. “We were very pleased to see them.”

That seemed to take a bit of the wind out of Mr. Suckling’s sails, but not all. His smile only faltered briefly. He then turned his attentions to Georgiana, intent on telling her all the minutiae of the fortnight they had been gone. She bore it with grace sufficient for several minutes, but it was a relief to her and Emma and Darcy when the housekeeper entered again. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Knightley,” she said, “but Mr. Knightley is asking for Miss Darcy. He says they’ve found a nest in the stables and her opinion is requested.”

“Oh! I shall be there directly,” Georgiana said, rising. Then she turned to Mr. Suckling. “If you would excuse me, sir.”

She headed for the door, but Mr. Suckling leapt to his feet, clearly not ready to relinquish his object. “Perhaps we could join you, Miss Darcy.”

Darcy opened his mouth to enlighten the man about the likely meaning of the master’s summons—one which he suspected was intended to end Mr. Suckling’s visit—but his sister shot him a look which silenced him. “If you wish,” she said, and left the room.

Though it would make him considerably later meeting Elizabeth and the vicar, Darcy could not pass up witnessing this. So when Mr. Suckling left, Darcy followed too.

Georgiana had her shawl wrapped tight about her against the wind, but Darcy knew it would be a mistake to regard her as helpless or fragile or ripe for the picking. She led the men into the stables, where Knightley and some grooms were standing around one of the stalls. As they walked down the center, she said, “Mr. Knightley, I understand there is some trouble with snakes.”

“Snakes!” Mr. Suckling cried. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Darcy?”

“Oh, was Mrs. Hodges not clear? They have found snakes back here. It is not so uncommon.”

Darcy suppressed a smile at the horror on the other man’s face. “But what could you possibly know that they would call for you?” Mr. Suckling demanded.

A brittle silence fell. The grooms knew as well as the gentlemen what an insult this man had just delivered. Darcy clenched his jaw, contemplating the merits of throwing him out into the cold, but his sister gave Mr. Suckling a steely look, then turned her back without a word.

“You are right; they are not adders,” she was soon saying to Knightley. “I should think it would be better not to move them. Have you never had snakes in here in winter?”

“No, miss,” said the head groom. “It gave us quite a surprise.”

“I am sure. Snakes try to find someplace warm to hibernate in the winter. Usually they go to the same place every year, though.”

“We had a heavy rainstorm last spring,” Knightley said. “The old blacksmith’s shop finally came down then. It had been unoccupied for years, and I wonder if they were nesting there.”

Georgiana stooped down to lift one of the snakes up. At that point Mr. Suckling seemed to snap. “Miss Darcy, I really must protest!” he cried. “You are going to harm yourself!”

“This snake is not venomous, sir, and it is half-asleep,” she retorted. “As you are neither father nor brother nor anyone connected to me, I would ask you not to presume to tell me how to conduct myself in a matter in which you are so little informed.”

It was the sharpest thing Darcy had ever heard his sister say. As he watched Thomas Suckling’s face, he saw the moment the man realized that Georgiana’s fortune and status were lost to him, and indeed, were never attainable in the first place. This young woman, called to offer advice to the magistrate of the parish and now holding a snake as though it were as normal as holding a fan, would not succumb to a relentless pursuit. She would make her own choices, free from any persuasion.

Mr. Suckling took himself off in a huff, and really it was no surprise to anyone who was present that morning to learn two days later that he and his brother and sister-in-law had left Surrey entirely. For now it was enough to have Donwell back to themselves. “I really must be off,” Darcy said, trying to lighten the mood as he kissed his sister’s cheek. Then quietly he added, “Shall I say anything to Mr. Averill when I see him?”

To his immense satisfaction, she blushed.

* * *

Elizabeth was both shocked and amused by Darcy’s narrative when he finally did arrive at Glen Eyrie, but she was glad of the time she had before he came, to speak to her friend. “I am very pleased for you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Averill said. “I know I offered congratulations before, but the more I think on the subject, the more convinced I am that there is none better suited for you. It will give me real joy to marry you and the captain.”

Elizabeth could not help a slightly wicked smile. “You know my sister had rather different ideas when we first came here.”

Mr. Averill actually colored. “I, ah, yes, I thought perhaps I was not imagining that.”

“You must forgive her. Jane is not very much like our late mother, but sometimes she strays into matchmaking.”

“A common ailment in this part of the world.”

“So I have heard. I hope Mrs. Knightley does not celebrate too much when Darcy and I are married.”

Mr. Averill offered an exasperated smile. “I doubt she will, but unless you intend to stay in this part of the world, I hardly see how it will trouble you much.” When Elizabeth did not say anything right away, he added, “ _Are_ you intending to stay in this part of the world?”

“Darcy has proposed purchasing Glen Eyrie,” Elizabeth replied, with a look around the sitting room. “My brother and sister will not settle here permanently. I think Darcy would like to stay in Surrey, but he will let me make the decision.”

“And is Mrs. Knightley causing your indecision?”

“She does not like me. Smile as you will, but that is the truth.”

“Well,” Mr. Averill said, “I think Mrs. Knightley improves upon acquaintance, but I shall leave it at that. I would not let her opinion affect such a decision as purchasing an estate.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I suppose. And you could not be biased at all.”

“Biased?”

“If we settle here, then Miss Darcy has another home in the neighborhood to visit.”

Fortunately for the vicar’s peace, Darcy was announced before he could do more than blush.

Over the next week Elizabeth found herself entertaining numerous callers wishing her the best in her upcoming nuptials. One morning, a group of ladies were admitted above stairs to admire Elizabeth’s new bonnets and gowns—her _trousseau_ , as Miss Darcy put it when she wanted to vex her brother. The three married ladies, Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. John Knightley, and Mrs. Weston, all handled the items with fond smiles of reminiscence, while Miss Darcy was full of innocent excitement.

“My brother and sister will be here with the children tomorrow,” she babbled. “Uncle Darcy cannot come—he broke his leg two months ago and has not left the Lake District since—but he sent a gift. I’m sure it’s lovely. Aunt Darcy always had the most exquisite china, at any rate. And Fitzwilliam had a letter today from cousin Jo; he will bring his sister Rachel with him the day after tomorrow.”

“Cousin Jo?” Mrs. Knightley repeated. “I thought I knew all your cousins, at least by reputation.”

“Oh, the colonel. Jehoshaphat.”

Elizabeth almost dropped the bonnet she was showing Mrs. Weston. “You have a cousin named Jehoshaphat?”

“Yes, I’m afraid. Colonel Jehoshaphat Fitzwilliam. The earl is a little eccentric. The first two sons are William Charles and Charles William. After that Uncle went to the Bible for names. I think the colonel went into the army to avoid being known as Mr. Jehoshaphat.”

“Is there more than one colonel in the family? Do you have more than one uncle who is an earl?” Elizabeth asked. Miss Darcy shook her head, and Elizabeth sat down. “Then I most certainly have met your cousin Jehoshaphat, for I met a Colonel Fitzwilliam at Rosings some years ago. I think I need at least half an hour to recover from this intelligence.”

Miss Darcy giggled, which was not helpful in the least.

As the group broke up, Elizabeth found herself alone with Mrs. Knightley. Mrs. Weston and Mrs. John Knightley had gone ahead with Miss Darcy, for their opinions were needed about the tuning of the piano in the music room. The two ladies looked at each other somewhat awkwardly; then Elizabeth smiled and lowered the lid of her trunk. “I still have two more gowns being made,” she said. “My aunt and uncle are to bring them when they come for the wedding.”

Mrs. Knightley nodded. “Your new things are very lovely. I am sure you and my cousin will make a dashing couple.”

Elizabeth did not quite know what to make of that, so she simply thanked her.

“Darcy has not said anything about where you will live, so I must assume the matter is not yet settled,” Mrs. Knightley continued. “I do hope you know that Donwell is always open to you both.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, somewhat startled that Mrs. Knightley had not already wheedled that information out of Fitzwilliam. She could not think at all what to say, and so closed her mouth again until something civil came to mind.

But Mrs. Knightley was quicker. She almost smiled, but it was more like exasperation than mirth. “Miss Bennet, you do not like me, do you?”

Elizabeth was going to need far more than half an hour to recover from this.

* * *

From Mr. H. Charles Bingley, to the East India Company (transcribed by Mrs. H. C. Bingley):

I write in regard to my brother and sister (by marriage), Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Bergamot. Mr. Bergamot has been posted in Batavia for two years now, and his wife accompanied him. Mrs. Bergamot has written frequently since her arrival in Java, but we have not received any word from her since February. If any letters remain in your custody, please deliver them to Glen Eyrie, in Highbury, Surrey. The majority of letters are addressed to my sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who is a member of my household.

If there is any official news of Mr. Bergamot or his wife, I would be most obliged to learn of it.


	10. In which N. takes M. for better, for worse

She could not lie. Elizabeth had never been terribly skilled at dissembling, but her shock was so complete that she could not hope to hide it. Her face was burning and she could not look away.

Finally Mrs. Knightley broke the silence. “It is not the end of the world, Miss Bennet. You are hardly the first to dislike me, and I daresay you will not be the last.”

“I do not know what to say, Mrs. Knightley.”

“Is there anything to say?” Mrs. Knightley asked, with a wry smile. “There is no law of God or man that claims two women must like each other. But I would not have you as a nemesis, especially as we will be cousins.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth replied, somewhat by rote.

“Fitzwilliam is quite my favorite cousin, so for his sake I would rather reach some sort of _rapprochement_.”

The panic in Elizabeth’s head was subsiding enough now for her to note at last the demeanor of Mrs. Knightley. There was little of the hauteur which Elizabeth would have expected, had she been at all prepared for this conversation.

There was no time to regroup, for they heard the butler downstairs announce that the Donwell carriage was ready to take the ladies. Before long Elizabeth was alone with her thoughts, and fairly miserable company they made. What a fool she had been! Things had begun very badly between them, to be sure—or had they? Elizabeth wracked her brain to remember that night in Weymouth at the Royal Hotel. What was it Mrs. Knightley had said? A thinly veiled insult to Elizabeth’s appearance? Perhaps it had only been an innocent remark and an ill-timed glance.

Was Elizabeth so bad as that? Would she base her judgment of the woman on so slim an idea? It was rubbish, surely. Had she not given up her nonsense about understanding the human condition so well? Surely there had been more to give rise to such feelings. Mrs. Knightley had not been overly warm to Elizabeth, not at first. But what if Elizabeth had induced Mrs. Knightley to be cool toward her by her own pique?

The memory of one particular evening in Weymouth arose. Mr. Churchill had pestered Mrs. Knightley to know what she was reading; Elizabeth, sensing some discomfort from more than one quarter, had deflected and distracted him. It was then that Elizabeth first learned of Fitzwilliam, though not by name. Mrs. Knightley had been grateful to her. Something like unto friendship had been offered. Elizabeth could see that now— _she_ certainly would not have offered such information about her family to someone she did not wish to know better.

And what of everything since? Mrs. Knightley had been everything gracious and kind in Surrey. She was no flatterer, but neither were her Darcy cousins. How could Elizabeth be so stupid as to take Darcy’s candor as charm and Mrs. Knightley’s as disdain? How wretched, how blind! Her arrogant presumption had been a far more effective blinder than even love would be. Mr. Averill had tried, considering his friendship with both women, to warn her that she was wrong about Mrs. Knightley, and his words had fallen on rocky soil indeed.

One thing Elizabeth was sure of, though. In Weymouth and Highbury alike, she heard of Mrs. Knightley’s fondness for matchmaking. Mrs. Knightley had certainly had designs on Elizabeth’s future from the moment her cousin arrived in Weymouth, and perhaps even before. After struggling against her lack of control in her life for some time, surely Elizabeth was not unjustified in feeling some resentment at such presumption.

But even that brought a realization of her own stupidity. Why on earth would Mrs. Knightley want Elizabeth to marry into her family if she did not like her?

Elizabeth could not stay forever in her room, so she took her mortification down to the book room and tried to find some solace by sitting among her father’s collection, though she was too agitated to read. There Darcy found her when he came. “Are you well, Elizabeth?” he asked, kissing her hand. “Your sister says you have not been yourself since my sister and the others left.”

“Oh!” cried she. “Oh, I hardly know myself today. I have come to realize you are marrying as great a fool as ever lived.”

“I am sure it is not as bad as all that,” he replied, sitting on a footstool beside her and holding her hands atop her knees. “For you are not foolish as Dickie Ward, who still had not mastered the different knots when we were mids together. Simon Harrelson could not tell north from south on a map of England. Lieutenant Kimball was fine enough as a sailor but could not write a decent letter, and sometimes we wondered if Ensign Hoyt knew port from starboard. Although he was wise enough to aver that his sister would make a far better sailor than he, and I daresay he was right.”

By the end of this recitation, Elizabeth was half laughter, half tears. She summoned something like courage along with a deep breath. “I fear I may offend you by this. I do not much like your cousin.”

He was startled by this, certainly. “I must assume you mean Emma, not Isabella.”

“Nor Jehoshaphat.”

A soft smile came and went on his handsome face. “Well, if you do not like her, I cannot imagine it being the work of a moment, so why has it overset you now?”

“Because she knows it,” Elizabeth said, her voice small. “She asked as much of me and—and I could not deny it. And then when she was gone I tried to recollect why I disliked her so much, and oh, Fitzwilliam. I think it was all a misunderstanding. Almost all, anyway.”

Darcy’s hands tightened around hers. “Emma is not the easiest person to know, let alone love. I have known her and loved her since she was very small, and even I have found her trying at times. But she has a generous heart. I hope you can see that.”

He might not have meant it as a rebuke, but Elizabeth’s guilty conscience was ready to find reprimand everywhere. She was too unhappy to do more than cry silently for a time. To his credit, Darcy merely waited for her to speak.

“She is terribly meddlesome, but I have loved many a meddler before,” Elizabeth said. “I don’t know why it has bothered me so much from her.”

His brow was furrowed when he spoke again. “I know I have heard many remarks about Emma’s matchmaking. I think I even made one such the night we met. Is it possible you took all of that seriously?”

Elizabeth felt cold all over, despite the robust fire at the hearth. “Do—do you mean—”

“When Mr. and Mrs. Weston were married, Emma fancied herself responsible for their falling in love,” Darcy explained. “It was not difficult to see, even in her letters, how she had exaggerated her own importance in the matter. But she thought herself very clever, and thought she ought to use her talent for others. Suffice it to say she was wrong on every front, and nearly did more harm than good.”

Elizabeth lowered her head to their joined hands. How could this keep getting worse?

“Dearest,” Darcy said, and it gave her a little comfort to hear him call her that, “dearest, I cannot deny that it grieves me to see you at odds with my cousin, but I do not blame you. I wish you had told me when I mentioned perhaps purchasing Glen Eyrie. If being neighbor to Emma displeases you, I would have you say that plainly, and we will look elsewhere.”

She sat up so quickly that her head spun for a moment. “But I—”

“But?”

“I know this will make me sound as capricious as the worst sort of woman,” she said. “But I love this house. I love the neighborhood. I feel more at home here than anywhere I have lived since my father died.”

“In spite of Emma?”

Elizabeth nodded, then sighed at herself. “Oh, it is hard to explain, Darcy. But I feel I need to try again with her—or try at all.”

“Your justice demands it, I think.”

“Yes—that is it, exactly.”

“I cannot give you much advice, save that you are both very dear to me,” Darcy said.

He stood then and helped her up as well, pulling her into a soft embrace. For a time Elizabeth contented herself to lean against him. He kissed the top of her head, and she lifted her face to him. “You should be careful, sir, or I shall begin to think you are too good for me.”

“That would be tragic,” he said dryly.

* * *

As much as he tried to set Elizabeth at ease, Darcy found himself dwelling on the conversation as the day progressed, even after he went back to Donwell. He knew the two women were not close, but how had he missed that Elizabeth disliked Emma _that_ much? Was the opposite true—did Emma dislike Elizabeth? He did not think so, and Elizabeth had intimated no such suspicions on her part, but he was rather uncertain of his own judgment at this juncture. He saw before him two possibilities for himself: either he could try to foster warmer relations between the two women, or he could stay well away and let them deal with each other on their own terms. The latter seemed the wiser course of action.

Darcy sincerely hoped, though, that he would not often be faced with Elizabeth in tears, for he knew absolutely nothing of what to do in such a situation. His own panicked thoughts had led to uncharacteristic inaction. It did not seem to cause any harm, though, so perhaps that was best. He would have to keep it in mind, should the situation ever arise again.

It was, if nothing else, a testament to how his life had altered. Nine months ago, Napoleon escaped Elba; six months ago, the armies met their fate at Waterloo; one month ago, the Treaty of Paris was signed and the war officially ended. Around the time of Napoleon’s abdication, Emma’s letter arrived amid the papers about his retirement, and the decision to travel to Weymouth had set his life’s new course in ways he could not have foreseen, not in a thousand years.

After supper that night, Emma brought him a cup of coffee while Georgiana and Knightley talked over a point of debate from supper. “You are quiet, Darcy,” Emma said. He took the coffee with a grateful look and let his cousin continue. “I had a conversation with Miss Bennet this morning, which I imagine you know.”

“I will only tell you she was deeply distressed.”

Emma waved him off. “I seek no betrayal of confidences. I hope she and I can come to a truce of some sort. Certainly if France can make peace with Europe, Miss Bennet and I can follow suit.”

“Generous.” He sipped his coffee and sighed. “You women never do things the easy way.”

“You men fight wars to settle your differences. I hardly see how women are the irrational creatures in this instance.”

Darcy snorted and dropped his head. “You have me there.”

Emma smiled fondly. “I suppose we will lose you for good after the wedding. I shall miss this.”

He shook his head. “You’ll not be rid of me yet. Elizabeth and I are looking to buy Glen Eyrie.”

“Are you really?” Emma cried. “Even after…”

“I asked her to consider it before we went to London. We spoke about it again today, and she wants to stay.”

“Well, I am happy to have you both as members of our little community, today’s events notwithstanding,” Emma replied. “And I think I shall not be the only one, for this will give Georgiana another reason to come for long visits.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I cannot think why he does not speak. Do you have any insight?”

“None I am at liberty to share. She will come back after the season, perhaps sooner. If their minds and hearts are still in agreement, it will not take long for everything to be settled.”

“Pretty philosophy, Darcy.”

“I do my best.”

The next day brought his brother’s family to Donwell. Edmund was a little familiar with Highbury and its environs, and he was pleased by Fitzwilliam’s notion of purchasing Glen Eyrie. “I would rather see you settled near Pemberley, but to see you settled at all is a great thing,” Edmund told him.

“Elizabeth is from Hertfordshire. Derbyshire might not suit her.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Eva replied, joining their conversation. “Who would not love Derbyshire?”

Edmund took her hand as she sat beside him. “I am half convinced Eva took me not for Pemberley, but for its county.”

“I would have stood for MP for Derbyshire instead of you had it been at all possible. Alas, not even the Whigs are that liberal-minded.”

“Oh, you’ll get your way eventually, I imagine,” Fitzwilliam remarked. “In the meantime, train up your boys to do the work for you.”

“James wants to go into the navy like you,” she said, “and if that is not plausible, he says there is always piracy.”

“I suppose he will be disappointed to inherit Pemberley instead.”

“Hmm, perhaps.”

“Then again, soft tack every day, Mrs. Grayson’s apple tarts, a warm, dry bed—he might prefer his inheritance.”

“So you’ll not send your own sons into the navy?” Edmund asked.

“There seems little point in putting the cart before that particular horse. Elizabeth only has sisters, so the point may be moot. Besides, the navy is not an easy life, and if the peace holds it may not be such a lucrative one either.”

From there it was an easy transition to a discussion of the recent treaty and whether this second exile would hold. (This time, at least, someone had the good sense to exile the tyrant to a small island in the South Atlantic, rather than off the coast of Europe.) They were still talking over the matter when the Bingleys and Elizabeth arrived, along with their aunt and uncle from town. Considering that the Hartfield Knightleys were there as well, Donwell had quite a gathering at hand.

Fortunately, when the colonel and Lady Rachel arrived the next morning, most of the children were at Hartfield, where their governesses could commiserate and try to keep their charges in tolerable order. Thus Donwell was relatively quiet for this new round of introductions. But as it turned out, Elizabeth only needed to be introduced to one of his Fitzwilliam cousins. “Miss Bennet!” his cousin Jehoshaphat cried, upon seeing her. “What a delightful surprise to see you again, and in such circumstances.”

“You know each other?” Darcy asked them.

“My cousin had the living of Hunsford, near Rosings,” Elizabeth replied. “He married my friend, and I came to visit her over Easter, when the colonel was visiting his aunt.”

“Well, I am thrilled beyond the telling to meet you once again, though I should think you could do better than a navy man,” Jehoshaphat said. Before Darcy could protest, he said, “Come, let me introduce you to my sister Rachel.”

Introductions were made, tea was served, and they sat together and chatted with the familiarity of old friends. Certainly between Elizabeth and the colonel there was a remarkable ease. If Darcy had been more given to jealousy, it might have offended him greatly, but as the matter stood he was happy to see her so readily accepted by these ambassadors from his mother’s family.

But best of all was to see Elizabeth, as dusk was falling, approach Emma. Emma was holding the youngest of the family, a Darcy infant of ten months who was resisting his own sleepiness. Darcy was not close enough to hear, but he was pleased to see them with fond looks for the child and tentative conversation with each other.

If nothing else, it was a start.

* * *

The morning of the wedding threatened snow, but the first flakes were not falling yet. Darcy and his sister and brother walked to Glen Eyrie, and the bride-people walked to church together. Elizabeth’s new gown of palest, shimmering silver seemed perfect for so wintry a day. Mr. Averill greeted them all with smiles and warm handshakes. Then he turned to the text, and they were married.

When it came time to sign the register, Elizabeth paused over her signature. “Mrs. Darcy?” Fitzwilliam said.

“Oh, it is nothing,” she said, offering him a smile as she finished. “Only that ‘Bennet’ has served me well.”

“Then I must see to it that ‘Darcy’ holds just as much favor for you.”

The vicar joined them on the walk back to Glen Eyrie, where the guests for the wedding breakfast were waiting. The neighborhood had come to celebrate, along with Darcy’s visiting family, the Gardiners, and two of his former comrades-at-arms, navy captains who had come down from London to wish the couple well. Jane’s arrangements were everything Elizabeth could wish. All else she could have asked was to have the rest of her sisters, but with Mary in Shropshire, Kitty in Devonshire, and Lydia halfway across the world, it was not to be. Kitty and Mary had sent letters full of their delight, and Lydia would doubtless sent her own congratulations and advice when she finally got word.

The crowning jewel of the gathering was when her new sister sat at the pianoforte and led them all in carols. A violin was brought forth, and Captain Jamison joined Georgiana in a jaunty descant. Standing toward the back of the group, unobserved by the rest, Elizabeth was free to lean back against her new husband and he to kiss her cheek. “Jamison learned to play in the fleet,” he said lowly. “Someone plays the fiddle or the fife to help the men pull together as they work.”

“No singing?”

“In a merchant ship, perhaps. Not in the Navy.”

“A pity. You have a fine voice.”

“Still, I think I will leave it to our sister.”

Elizabeth looked at the golden-haired girl at the pianoforte with a soft smile. Mr. Averill was nearby, smiling as they sang carols in parts. In the window beyond, she saw fat snowflakes coming down. Nothing else could have completed the tableau so well.

But she ought to have given greater heed to the snow. By the time Darcy spoke of leaving for London, the winds were stronger and the snowfall heavier. Georgiana saw it through the window and suddenly ceased playing. Captain Jamison’s fiddle petered out a few notes later as Georgiana exclaimed, “My goodness!”

There were exclamations of surprise all around; the first note of dismay came from Mrs. John Knightley. “Oh!” she cried. “How dreadful! My dear, we must get home to the children at once!”

“The children have a nurse and a governess to mind their welfare,” Mr. John Knightley replied. “Not to mention all the servants who can protect them from murderous intruders.”

Mrs. John glared at her husband, while Edmund Darcy smiled. “I see my wife and sister are not the only ones who pay far too much attention to lurid tales of murder in the papers.”

“Oh! They are in every way horrible.”

“Is this why Eva and Georgiana both asked me if someone had died when I did something they did not expect?” Darcy asked of his brother.

“I imagine it is.”

“I can hardly begrudge the ladies their amusement,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Why, Father likes to read them aloud over breakfast.”

“That must fortify the appetite,” Elizabeth replied. “I suppose Georgiana was right to call him eccentric.”

“You have no idea, cousin.”

By then it was decided absolutely that Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were going home to Hartfield. Jane, however, worried about the rest, especially as some of the Donwell party had come on foot before the snow. “I would hate to see you all crowded on the journey, and the turning to Donwell is so steep,” said she. “We certainly have beds enough to keep you all for the night, and you may go home again by daylight. I am sure the snow will have stopped by morning.”

Though there was no science to buttress Jane’s statement, it was comfortable enough to take as truth. The Westons would go with the Hartfield Knightleys, for their daughter had spent the day with the little girls there. They were off as soon as the carriage could be ready, and Jane set about directing the servants to arrange the rooms, and to prepare a larger dinner than had been planned.

In the midst of everything, Jane caught Elizabeth and offered a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry, dear Lizzy. I know this is not how you wished to spend this evening.”

Elizabeth only laughed. “Dearest sister, you cannot apologize for this, unless you prayed for snow—and if you did, I should think we must take you as a woman of God, and fear as well as forgive.”

Jane smiled, and Elizabeth shortly found herself in an embrace. “Oh, I shall miss you dreadfully, Lizzy. I am very happy for you but I cannot help wishing you would stay.”

Elizabeth drew back. “A fault in you, at last! That is the first selfish word I have ever heard you utter.”

Despite how unplanned it was, dinner was a lively affair. Elizabeth sat next to her husband, holding his hand from time to time without shame. Afterward, the party did not stay long assembled. Elizabeth felt a little awkward as the group was breaking up, and then Jane whispered that she had moved Elizabeth’s things into another room, a little removed from the rest. Darcy urged her to go on ahead, and he joined her a little while later. She was still in her new gown, and he paused in the doorway to the bedroom. “Where is your maid?” he asked.

“I sent her to help the others,” Elizabeth replied, twisting her hands a little, “and sent your man as well, for—I thought—perhaps—perhaps I was too forward.”

He caught up her hands and kissed them. “Impossible, or at least not very likely. It was considerate toward our fellow stranded guests.”

The silence stretched between them. Their only contact was their joined hands, but to Elizabeth it seemed the promise of a life to come.

He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “Well, this evening has taken an unconventional turn as far as wedding days go.”

“Yes, but I do not mind.” She stepped forward, laying her hand over his heart for a moment before winding her arms around his neck. “I shall find nothing lacking in this day, provided we end it with a little convention.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Darcy replied, grinning as he leaned in to kiss her.

* * *

When morning came, Emma was startled to find herself not only in a strange room, but absent the nausea which had plagued her these many weeks. She was, in fact, hungry, and beginning to wonder if Glen Eyrie harbored some strange magic.

Outside, the snow had ceased, and though there were clouds, there was no sign of any resumption of the storm. It had left a blanket across the countryside. Emma was in a little doubt as to how they would get home if the lanes were in such a state, but for now she would allow herself time for wonder.

Her hunger would not let her dawdle at the window long, however. Georgiana was already at the breakfast table when Emma and Knightley arrived. “Good morning, cousin,” Emma greeted. “I trust you slept well?”

Georgiana yawned, then looked sheepish. “Cousin Rachel and I were talking, perhaps later than we should have been.”

“Under the circumstances I think you can be forgiven,” Knightley said. “Can I get you anything for breakfast, ladies?”

The others began to filter into the room as the hour progressed, including the newlyweds. Emma was amused to see how precious little attention Darcy had for anyone but his bride. But the best reaction of the morning was when Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived, last of all. He saw the bride and groom and stopped dead in his tracks. “Well,” he began, then seemed to think the better of it.

Fortunately, the new Mrs. Darcy was equal to the occasion. “Colonel!” cried she. “We were beginning to worry you had been murdered.”

The colonel gave a great start before he understood the joke. “I see you were not concerned enough to come looking for me.”

“Why, if you had been murdered, I am sure such a ghastly sight would ruin my appetite entirely.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam grumbled as he joined them. Down the way, Edmund Darcy leaned forward. “Welcome to the family, Elizabeth.”

* * *

Excerpted, from Lady Catherine de Bourgh to Captain Fitzwilliam Darcy:

I am told the time has come for congratulations. I would find fault with you, nephew, for failing to bring your bride to Rosings to meet me ere you were wed, but I understand from my brother that I have met her before; that the new Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy was twice a guest of Hunsford parish and dined with me many times. I remember her as a prettyish, genteel sort of girl. I suppose she is older now, and beauty rarely lasts very long. My daughter Anne is an exception, which you would know if you had visited us before you went to Surrey.


	11. In which surprises erupt

The Donwell party decamped from Glen Eyrie the morning after the wedding, taking with them Captains Jamison and Windell. It was a few days before leaving for London was at all feasible, however, so the newlyweds stayed with the Bingleys a little while longer. Those days were enough for them to make up their minds: they would purchase the estate.

Because of the delay, it was a large and merry party which traveled to London. Elizabeth would have thought Darcy would resent the intrusion, but instead he welcomed his sister and one of the captains to join their carriage. “For,” said he, “I would not put it past James to try to gain passage with us, and I know his mother would rather have him with his governess.”

They would have plenty of time with their nieces and nephews in London, as it happened. The children were fascinated by this new Aunt Darcy creature, and Elizabeth, being fond of children in general, was pleased to find herself welcomed by the most exacting critics of her new family.

The prince regent was not to open Parliament until the first of February, so town filled up little by little after Christmas. Elizabeth and Darcy spent a fortnight in his uncle’s house, where the earl did indeed read tales of murder from the papers over breakfast. Elizabeth had spent some time going from house to house, visiting her own relations and others, and never had she experienced anything as unusual as that.

Jane and Charles had removed from Glen Eyrie permanently, and the captain began the process of leasing and ultimately buying the estate. “I asked John Knightley before we left Highbury,” he told Elizabeth one evening. “He warned me that purchasing could take years.”

“My goodness, why?” Elizabeth asked.

“The owner must provide documents that he is legally able to sell the estate. This means tracing the ownership of the land all the way back to the Crown. According to John, some have started requiring only such documentation from the last sixty years, but he says that has not been tested in court.”

“I had no idea.”

“Nor did I. John gave me a few names of colleagues whom he would trust to buy property for himself. I have a meeting with his first recommendation tomorrow.”

The couple were in their sitting room, Elizabeth writing to her friend Charlotte while Darcy sifted through their letters. “My dear, this is from the East India Company,” he said, stopping short in his task. “And addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Oh! It must be from my sister,” she cried. “It’s been ever so many months since we heard anything from her.”

“Is this Mary or Lydia?”

“Lydia. Mrs. Godfrey Bergamot now.”

“I did not know she married an East India man. I wonder if we have any acquaintance in common.”

“Well, as you have acquaintance everywhere, that seems quite likely.”

Darcy came to the sofa by her desk and handed her the letter, already worse for wear. “I do have acquaintance everywhere, but I am beginning to realize you have a far more vast acquaintance than I thought.”

“Hmm, truly Lydia is the only far-flung among my sisters. The others married much more conventionally. Lydia wanted to be married and wanted an adventure, and she has had it in droves.”

There was a brief pause in the conversation. “Do I want to know what you mean by convention?”

“Oh, she eloped. She was barely sixteen. My father might have tried to delay the engagement, because she _was_ so young, but to Scotland they went, and then to the East Indies before the year was up.”

“Have you seen her since?”

“No, and I do not know when we may see her again. She was never a very serious person at home—you could not interest her in reading or music or anything weightier than bonnets and flirting with young men. When she went abroad, I never imagined we would hear from her above twice a year. But she has written faithfully—indeed, faithfully and well. It has turned out that Lydia is an excellent writer when she has real news to impart.”

“Why did you become her correspondent, of all your family?”

Elizabeth regarded her letter with a fondly exasperated smile. “Jane was married, Mary about to be and Kitty not far behind. Lydia imagined that married women had no time for writing, so I was her recipient by default. I have kept all her letters, for I think she could write an excellent memoir someday. Would you like to read them?”

She started to rise, but Darcy laughed and said, “Read your letter now, dearest. I can wait to read the rest.”

Elizabeth smiled, and broke the seal. The letter had been started in late March the previous year, and at first it was Lydia’s usual, cheerful recitation of society in Java. But Elizabeth’s smile fell as her sister’s letter broke off in the middle of a sentence and took an abrupt turn. She cried out in surprise, making Darcy startle. “Elizabeth?” he said. “Elizabeth, what is wrong?”

“Here, I will read,” she said. “‘Lizzy, the most extraordinary thing—a volcano has erupted. We are bound for England aboard the _Gallant_ —but I am out of order. On the morning of 5th April, we heard something like gunshots in the distance. We thought it was the natives on another island stirring up trouble. Would that it were! We heard these explosions again and again as the week passed. On the 11th, the sun never shone; we saw only thick, heavy clouds. Batavia was under a blanket of ash, up to the knees, dirtier than any snow you ever saw and full of noxious poison. We have heard now that many thousands on the island died that night.’”

Elizabeth paused there, lowering the letter to her lap. Darcy uttered an oath while she sat dumbstruck by it all. A volcano! She could scarcely believe it. Lydia’s life these last few years had often seemed bigger than life, but this—this was astonishing beyond all else.

“Your sister survived this,” Darcy said quietly, reaching to cover her hand. “What else does she say?”

Elizabeth took up the letter again and found her place. “‘Ruffles’—oh, that is the governor, Stamford Raffles; Lydia has never liked him—‘Ruffles sent his lieutenants to investigate—all horror—they sailed through ash like we saw in Batavia—all was darkness. The volcano was Tambora, on the island of Sumbawa. The explosion was nearly eight hundred miles from us. I haven’t the faintest idea how we could be affected by something so far away from us. The explosion must have been too great to comprehend.

“‘And yet there were survivors! The raja of Sanggar, along with some number of his household, managed to escape from the direct path of the eruption and get to Batavia. What a harrowing tale he told! We heard the story from Lt. Phillips of the Royal Navy, who had it from the raja himself. The man had the presence of mind to get as many people as possible on horseback on the 10th, the day of the main explosion. By chance or Providence, the path he chose around the volcano took them away from lava and noxious gases. We have heard since that his kingdom is utterly destroyed.

“‘There is ever so much more to say, but I must send this with the packet. We follow in a fortnight, and hopefully will reach England not too long after Christmas. I cannot say how much I long to see you all.’”

For a time Elizabeth sat dumbfounded. Her husband had no words to offer either. He took the letter from her hands and read it over silently himself. Elizabeth was wracking her brains trying to imagine what to say or do when Darcy tapped the paper. “The _Gallant_ —I know her captain. If you write your sister now, most likely we can get a letter to her before she arrives.”

Elizabeth turned to the desk and drew out pen and paper mechanically, but she had no idea what to write. Darcy stood, setting the letter on the desk and kissing the top of her head. “Tell her your relief that she is well, dear. Tell her to come to us when she reaches England.”

It was as good a place as any to start.

* * *

My dear sister,

Your last letter has left me as speechless as any news may. I cannot comprehend what horrors you must have seen. My sisters and I have been concerned over your silence, but never did any of us imagine its cause.

I must assume you have not received any letters from us in some time. Mary was delivered of a girl last March. Jane’s health found improvement in Surrey, and she and Bingley are planning to spend next summer in Scotland. And I have married—my husband is a retired captain of the Royal Navy, and cousin of one of our Surrey neighbors. It is through his connections that I hope this letter reaches you before you and Mr. Bergamot are in England again. He seconds me in inviting you to our home. If you are in England before Easter, you will find us with his brother’s family, the Darcys in Cavendish Square. If later, come to Glen Eyrie in Highbury, Surrey.

There is so much more to say, but I would rather tell you face-to-face. Godspeed, Lydia! May you be home again soon.

Elizabeth Darcy

* * *

London was starting to wear on Darcy even after Parliament opened. He enjoyed the theater, dancing with his wife, and debating with his sister-in-law, but London itself was a terrible bore. It did not help that since he and Elizabeth were married, they had not had a single hour of sunshine. Such dreariness was enough to drive anyone mad.

But diversion arrived with the _Gallant_. The family were all at home on the morning Elizabeth’s youngest sister arrived in Cavendish Square. Darcy was in every way surprised by her. She was taller than Elizabeth, brown and a little too thin. Elizabeth had described Lydia as brash and fearless, and no doubt she was, but she was also not merely a girl anymore.

Elizabeth embraced her in the foyer before letting Lady Eva lead Lydia into the sitting room. Elizabeth hung back with Darcy for a moment. “She is so altered,” she whispered.

“I am sure these last few months have been difficult—”

“She and Georgiana are the same age.”

That struck Darcy with more force. Mrs. Bergamot looked a full ten years older than his sister. The sea and the East were hard on a body, but this was startling.

Darcy and Elizabeth followed into the sitting room. Mrs. Bergamot looked rather tired as Lady Eva offered her tea. “What a journey you must have had,” Eva said. “Elizabeth has told us of your travels. These several months have been exhausting, have they not?”

“You are very kind,” Lydia replied, with the air of a person who did not quite know where to look or for how long. Darcy thought he rather understood that.

Eva, ever the politician, spent a few moments making sure the young traveler was comfortable before remembering something in another room. With a wordless look, she beckoned Darcy to follow, closing the doors behind them when they were out of the room. “Let Elizabeth take care of her for a little while,” Eva said. “I have no idea what she has to tell, but she should not have to perform it for strangers.”

They went to Edmund’s study nearby, but within a few minutes Eva had to attend to household matters. Darcy was alone when the door to the sitting room opened. From his seat he saw his wife taking her sister upstairs. Knowing Eva, there was a room waiting for Lydia with a fire and a bath.

Elizabeth came down again a few minutes later and joined him in the study. There was some anxiety in her which kept her pacing the room. “The journey was a horror,” Elizabeth said. “They were sailing through ash from the volcano for days upon days. Even after they got closer to Australia, they were sailing through storm after storm.”

Darcy caught her hand as she paced. “My dear,” he said quietly.

She needed hardly any convincing at all to sit upon his lap and lay her head against his shoulder. Elizabeth touched his cravat before resting her hand against the buttons of his waistcoat. “What happened to her husband, Lizzy?” he murmured into her hair.

“They were coming round Cape Horn in a storm. Mr. Bergamot went above to help and was swept overboard.”

“I am sorry, and sorry for her,” he said. “I’m afraid it is not so uncommon as one would like.”

“And she is... I do not know if it is grief or exhaustion or—or anything, but she insists there is hope,” Elizabeth continued. “They were not so far from shore, and she says he was a very strong swimmer.”

“I suppose it is possible. More wonderful things have happened, but I cannot think it likely.”

Elizabeth lifted her head. “Lydia was always so wild before she was married. I know I have only been with her for half an hour, but she is so altered now. I... I do not know how she will react to you, as a sailor.”

“She has been through something awful. I can hardly blame her. But she is your sister. All we can do is offer help and comfort.”

There was a tap on the door, and it creaked open to reveal Eva. Elizabeth was still enough a bride to blush at being found sitting on her husband’s lap. “Oh! It is nothing shocking,” Eva said, even as Elizabeth shifted to Darcy’s side. “I might be more shocked to find you otherwise. Elizabeth, how is your sister?”

Eva listened attentively as Elizabeth recounted the story. Darcy was able to guess at some of the details Lydia had omitted for one reason or another. At the end of the recitation Eva drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “Poor girl. She is the youngest of your family, yes?” At Elizabeth’s affirmative, Eva said, “It will do her some good to be with us. She’s welcome here for as long as she needs, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth smiled at last. “You don’t know what you’re offering, Eva.”

“Oh, don’t I? Have I ever told you about my sister Priscilla? She tried to elope with our steward’s son, a man whose character barely rose to the level of wastrel. Then Papa tried to marry her off to some Irish lord, and Prissy tried to jump overboard on the way to Ireland to avoid the marriage.”

“Oh dear.”

“The Irish lord was not too interested in Priscilla anyway, but I thought my father was going to have a fit of apoplexy and my sister would end up on Elba with Napoleon.”

“Your father might have put a better guard on Lady Priscilla than we had on old Boney,” Darcy put in.

“And then we would not have had his days of glory last year! You see, all would have been better that way.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Had it not been for that, I might not have gone to Weymouth and might not have met my wife.”

Eva smiled at them. “In any case, Elizabeth, I can hardly imagine your sister being more of a nuisance than mine has been. At least yours does not merit the scandal sheets.”

“Well, I think I shall see if Lydia needs anything,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you, Eva.”

Elizabeth left the study, and Darcy turned to Eva. “You left out my favorite part of the Ireland story.”

“That Prissy tried to run off to Canada next? I meant to distract her, not give her a glimpse into the realm of the possible.”

* * *

For some days, Lydia was difficult to engage. It reminded Elizabeth strongly of when Jane was engaged and Lydia was sullen over not being the first of the sisters to marry, as irrational as that was. The Darcy children were able to draw her out a little, but it was not until the fourth day that there was some return to her old self. The spark came from an unlikely place. Edmund asked Lydia to resolve a point of curiosity about the Indies, and suddenly she was no longer the fragile glass she had seemed since her return.

She was not the sounding brass she had once been, but to Elizabeth’s delight, Lydia told stories as well as she wrote them. Edmund and Eva had invited three couples, all Whigs and abolitionists. Lydia had little idea of the consequence of the others at the table, but it did not matter. Edmund asked what she knew, and she was willing to share.

“Governor Raffles was a determined abolitionist,” Lydia said. “Or is, I should say, as he is no more dead than you or I. But he was not just committed to chasing out the European slave traders. A number of the little kingdoms in the Indies practice it among themselves, and Governor Raffles often had his hands full with them. But the worst problem was the pirates.”

“Pirates!” Lady Harding cried.

“Oh, yes!” Lydia replied. “You see, there is plenty of everything but labor in the East. So pirates attack the coast and kidnap whoever they can, but especially the young men.”

“The slave trade in the Indies is not on so great a scale as the African trade has been, but it is still a tremendous challenge,” Darcy put in.

Lydia was not an expert in the matter, but she had enough firsthand knowledge to participate fully in the discussion which followed. Elizabeth could only marvel at her sister. Lydia was talking about a weighty matter with some authority, to a party which included an earl and a former Cabinet minister. For Elizabeth it reawakened a pang of grief over her father, who would have been amazed by everything about this, both Lydia’s transformation and the tale she told.

Hours later, when the guests were gone at last, Elizabeth and Lydia sat before the dying fire in the drawing room while the rest of the house was settling in for the night. “I had forgot how cold England is,” Lydia said, wistfully. “There is no winter in Java, only a wet season and a dry season.”

“This winter seems colder than usual,” Elizabeth replied. “Do you miss Batavia?”

A long moment passed before Lydia shook her head. “No, I do not think I do. Our friends were all scattering anyway, and I think… I think I miss my husband too much to miss our home.”

“Well, tomorrow I must take you shopping for some warmer clothes,” Elizabeth said, drawing a small smile from her youngest sister. Edmund and Fitzwilliam had dealt with the lawyers and the East India Company and determined that Lydia had inherited a considerable sum of money from Mr. Bergamot, enough to keep her comfortably independent for the rest of her life, if it was managed well. And in this case, considering the state of Lydia’s wardrobe and the state of her coffers, it would be false economy indeed not to invest a little in more suitable attire.

The other Darcy ladies came with them. Eva was perennially practical, keeping Lydia within a reasonable budget and the expectations of a young woman who lost her husband some months before. Lydia was not particularly excited by the latter, but Georgiana and her multitude of questions kept her occupied. It was fairly obvious to Elizabeth that Georgiana was fascinated by Lydia, and why should she not be? They were the same age but their lives could hardly be more dissimilar.

“Eva thinks you ought to write a book,” Georgiana said, over tea when they returned to Cavendish Square.

“You should!” Eva cried. “My goodness, Mrs. Bergamot, it’s hard to imagine anybody _not_ being fascinated by all of this.”

“I suppose it is all rather thrilling from time to time,” Lydia replied. “Lizzy, did I tell you about stopping on St. Helena?”

“St. Helena?” Elizabeth repeated. “You mean—”

“Yes, where that dreadful little man is,” Lydia said. “Although Napoleon is not really that short. Truthfully he was terribly dull. Strange to think he could cause so much trouble in Europe.”

The gentlemen joined them, and Elizabeth looked up at her husband as she handed him a cup of tea. “My dear, did you ever meet Napoleon?”

“Of course not,” Darcy replied. “When would any proper Englishman have met him?”

“Lydia has.”

“Well, she is not a proper Englishman, is she?”

Lydia snorted as she laughed, proving she was not quite so altered as Elizabeth had thought.

* * *

They went back to Surrey a few weeks after Mrs. Bergamot returned to England, taking her and Georgiana with them. Darcy had assumed his sister-in-law’s tale would be the talk of Highbury, but he was soon distracted. Upon walking to Donwell the morning after arriving at Glen Eyrie, Darcy found the Knightleys at the breakfast table. Emma stood to greet him, and he instantly saw what she had omitted from her letters in the last two months. She was expecting a child.

“Emma!” he cried. “Why did you not tell me?”

She embraced him as tightly as she could. “We had not told anyone before you left, and I did not want to tell such news in a letter.”

Darcy turned and shook Knightley’s hand. “Congratulations to you both. When do you expect the child to be born?”

“The midwife says June,” Knightley said.

“But Isabella thinks May,” Emma added. “Mrs. Yackley knows her business, of course, but my sister has given birth six times, so I do not know which to believe.”

“Well, I suppose it will be born when it is ready,” Darcy replied, kissing Emma’s cheek. “I am so happy for you.”

She started to tear up, which alarmed Darcy somewhat but made Knightley laugh. “You must excuse her,” Knightley said, producing a handkerchief for her. “Everything sets her weeping these days.”

“Not everything,” Emma said, dabbing her eyes. “Some things are just exhausting. Walking to Randalls has me feeling I’ve run to Marathon.”

“I think the runner came _from_ Marathon,” Darcy said.

“As though it makes a difference.”

After a cup of tea, Darcy walked back through the cold to Glen Eyrie, where he found his wife and sisters sitting together with their work baskets. Truthfully Elizabeth was the only one diligently working. A week into their marriage Darcy had teased her that she could not be left alone with any plain fabric, for left to her own devices, she would cover it with embroidery. A week later he discovered that nearly all his handkerchiefs now had borders of scrollwork and forget-me-nots. He would not say another word to her about it, lest his cravats fall in the path of her needle and thread, but at least her work was beautiful.

Lydia and Georgiana were talking more than working, and it was not long before they left the room to find something in Elizabeth’s library. “How are our neighbors?” Elizabeth asked once they were alone.

Another day he might have pointed out that the Knightleys were cousins as well as neighbors, but he would not press the matter today. “Emma is—oh, what is the fashionable word these days? _Enceinte_?”

Elizabeth gasped, but not at his news. “French? Captain, I am _shocked_.”

He shook his head fondly. “I am sure you are.”

“I am pleased for them,” Elizabeth said, reverting to the first subject. “Only a little surprised it is only happening now. Have they not been married for some time?”

“Three years, I think. I do not pretend to understand the matter scientifically, but I understand sometimes children do not come easily.”

“My mother had no difficulties at all, save that she would have preferred boys.” Elizabeth set her needlework down and looked toward the window. “Would it concern you if you had no son?”

“To be honest, I am not sure what I would do with daughters.”

“Well!” Elizabeth said. “We are in quite a quandary here, for I am not sure what I would do with sons.”

“We’ll have to figure it out, then,” Darcy replied, leaning in to kiss her.

“Possibly soon.”

Darcy was looking at his watch at that moment, wondering if he had time to answer a letter from the solicitor in London, and thus had to stop and think about what his wife had just said. Startled, he looked up at her and said, “Wait, what?”

“Bear in mind I’m not at _all_ certain,” Elizabeth replied, looking nervous.

They really had not been married very long, so her uncertainty made sense. “Do you want to have a child so soon?” he asked. “It is very early yet.”

“I do,” she said. “I see no reason to wait, and I have always wanted a large family.”

He leaned in then with a little smirk. “Then let us continue as we are until we are certain.”

“Fitzwilliam Darcy!”


	12. In which Lydia writes

Spring was stubborn in its refusal to arrive in Highbury. Glen Eyrie’s environs had seemed so welcoming in the autumn. Now the house was a fortress against the weather. “It is so strange,” Elizabeth said, on the third morning in a row that heavy rains kept them indoors. “We had so many lovely walks last year. Perhaps my sister does have some sort of magic.”

“If any of us did, it would be Jane,” Lydia put in.

Georgiana was frowning. “I think you are painting a rosier picture than existed, Elizabeth.”

“Do you?” Darcy replied. “I was thinking much the same, that last autumn we walked out five days of seven.”

“Yes, but that was from perseverance rather than fine weather. Do you not remember the storm the night before you proposed to Elizabeth? She was stuck in the middle of the stream because of the high water.”

Elizabeth caught her husband’s eye and blushed, remembering the start of the storm and their first kiss. Lydia saw her blush, but did not know enough to tease with any accuracy. “Caught in a stream, Lizzy? That sounds as bad as one of Mamma’s schemes.”

“It was hardly a scheme, Lydia,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, not on your end. I had every intention of finding you stranded there on the stepping stones,” said Darcy.

While the younger women giggled, Elizabeth rose and squeezed her husband’s shoulder as she left the room. “Do try not to encourage them.”

Yet encouragement was exactly what was needed and given, just in a different quarter. With his experience, Darcy was able to converse with Lydia about her travels to an extent no one else in their circle could. Mr. Averill called in the middle of that conversation and was asked to stay for dinner, during which the two men took the interest Lady Eva had planted and brought it to fruition. As the rain continued another four days, Lydia took to pen and paper, spinning her tale of marriage to Mr. Bergamot, their passage to the Indies, their life there, and how it all came to an end.

Lydia wrote and wrote and wrote, and the rest of the household traded her sheafs of papers among them, offering words of critical encouragement along the way. It was Georgiana who proved the most useful among them. She and Lydia would commandeer the study, one sitting at Darcy’s desk and the other at Elizabeth’s. Georgiana was a ruthless editor, so much that Elizabeth once tried to soften the young woman’s opinions. “No, no!” Lydia cried. “No, she has been right about almost everything so far, and I cannot do without her help.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth replied, though she was still dubious.

“I used to think you and Mary had read more books than any other woman, but I wager Georgiana has read twice as many as you both combined,” Lydia went on.

“Well, I have never been a great reader, nor ever claimed to be,” Elizabeth said. “I only read more than you did. And Georgiana’s being better read than us should be no surprise, as she got a far better education than either of us did.”

Georgiana, meanwhile, had pulled down two books from the shelf and brought them to Lydia. “There is this book on volcanoes, and this on birds in Australia. Your father had many varied interests, I think.”

“He did, although I do not think he ever read the Australia book,” Elizabeth said. “After my sisters were married, he used to tell Mamma he was going to read that book in preparation for emigrating to Australia.”

“Who would have ever thought I would find use for it, Lizzy?” Lydia asked.

“Evidently there is no end to the age of miracles in the Bennet family.”

To the surprise of everyone, including the collaborators, after three weeks Lydia and Georgiana had produced a manuscript ready for inspection outside of the house. Georgiana had the better hand of the two, so she meticulously copied out the draft with the agreed-upon corrections. She then insisted that they do the brave thing, and ask her cousin Knightley to read it first.

Elizabeth, whether from Lydia’s long absence or from some awakening maternal tendencies, was more worried about his reaction than they were. He would not be cruel, of course, but sometimes a truth kindly meant could sting more than a finely-tuned insult. “What if he disagrees with us?” she asked of Darcy the night after the girls delivered the draft to Donwell.

“Will it be so bad?” he replied.

“He is an educated man, and they are nineteen-year-old girls.”

“And by offering criticism of their work, he will help them improve it.”

“Do you really think it so simple?”

He rested his arms on the pillow above his head as they lay in bed together. “They know what sort of man Knightley is, particularly Georgiana.”

“I suppose Lydia never was bothered by criticism from any quarter, but I have never seen her take anything to heart as she has this manuscript.”

“Why does it bother you so, then?”

As usual he had cut to the heart of the matter. Elizabeth sighed. “She has already endured something unimaginable, and lost her husband—and still clings to hope that he is not truly gone. I know I encouraged her in this when she started, but I worry now that she has written this to distract herself from grief, and that hearing its flaws laid out will bring forth the pain she is ignoring at present.”

“Elizabeth, my love,” he said, drawing her close, “you are borrowing trouble to a prodigious degree. Do your days not have enough difficulties on their own?”

Her days did have enough trouble, and more to come, but at least there was little time left to dwell on this one. Knightley read the manuscript dutifully, and the next evening brought it back when the Donwell Knightleys came to Glen Eyrie for dinner. Only the weakest thread of civility kept the girls from demanding to know at once what he thought. Elizabeth was anxious too, but as host she had other duties, and instantly she was struck by the change in Mrs. Knightley. The great amount of rain had prevented much intercourse between the two houses, so Elizabeth had only caught a glimpse of Mrs. Knightley once at church since returning from London. 

Mrs. Knightley looked tired now, more tired than Elizabeth had ever seen her. Her duties to her guest would have propelled her to see to the woman’s comfort, but memory of Jane in this way gave the greater urgency to her inquiries. Mrs. Knightley tried to laugh away her concerns. “You are very kind, Mrs. Darcy, but really, the midwife says it is all normal.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Elizabeth replied. “You must forgive me. I lived with my sister Jane when she was with child, and it was a very difficult experience for her. My niece is almost three years old, and until we came here, Jane’s health was particularly fragile.”

“My sister has had the good fortune to be perpetually robust all six times,” Emma continued. “She is enjoying taking care of me.”

“How does Mr. Knightley feel about it?”

“He is far too English to show much concern over me, but he does spend a worrisome amount of time with his bailiff, which is his typical routine when something is troubling him.”

Elizabeth offered a small smile, not sure where to take the conversation. It had been awkward between them ever since that day they first talked openly and frankly, with full understanding on both sides. Fortunately the butler arrived to announce that dinner was served before much more time could pass. At table, the dishes and the wine could provide plenty of conversation for all. 

Besides, the girls could wait no longer to hear Mr. Knightley’s opinion. “Well,” he said in some state, “let me be very clear from the start. It was a most enjoyable read.” The girls let out little laughs of relief, which in turn made the whole table easier. “I have a great many suggestions, but I would be remiss if I did not make it plain that with a little more attention, this good work can become a remarkable one.”

Elizabeth had no doubt that Lydia and Georgiana would be up working till their candles were used up. After dinner, they and the gentlemen occupied the card table while Elizabeth and Mrs. Knightley sat nearer the fire. “I am almost jealous, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Knightley said. “My cousin was never this engaged in anything when she was a guest at Donwell.”

“I can take no credit at all,” Elizabeth replied. “It is all Lydia, though I could never have foreseen it.” She smiled fondly at the group around the table. “I am glad to see it, though. At that age a girl can get herself into all manner of mischief if she has nothing to occupy her mind.”

“Very true, very true. Especially if she is in a confined society. I sometimes wonder if a girl ought to be sent off to a convent to keep her occupied during the most trying years. Shockingly papist, I know.”

“Yes, but I shall exceed you. Keep the boys at home and send the girls off to trade in the East.”

Mrs. Knightley smiled over her cup of coffee. “I like how you think, Mrs. Darcy.”

That evening, when the guests were gone and the girls were in Georgiana’s room with Lydia’s manuscript, Elizabeth and Darcy sat before the fire in their bedchamber. “You and Emma were long in conversation tonight.”

“We were. She had interesting ideas on how to keep young ladies out of trouble.”

“No doubt things which ought to have been done for her.”

“Oh, I imagine I might have benefitted from being sent off, where I had no choice but to do something better with my time than walk about the countryside and convince myself I had a keen and penetrating insight into the human condition.”

“You really aren’t than different from Emma, you know.”

Elizabeth blew out a long breath. “I know.”

* * *

The next morning, Emma was startled when the Glen Eyrie ladies called at Donwell. Mrs. Bergamot and Georgiana were barely awake enough for civility, though Georgiana perhaps was a little more alert. Mrs. Darcy seemed eminently amused by the state of her sisters. “They were up half the night with their work,” she explained. “I thought they needed a change of scenery, at least for a little while.”

“I see,” Emma replied. “If Donwell does not do the trick, might I suggest Hartfield? My nieces and nephews are always a distraction.”

Mrs. Darcy smiled, and it seemed to Emma the first genuine smile the other woman had directed her way. “I understand Randalls will also be the scene of much activity soon.”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Weston has told me that little Anna has started to understand that something is changing and she is not at all reconciled to it.”

“Entirely understandable. I was five when Lydia was born and rather put out by the prospect of yet another sibling.”

Emma then tried to get the young ladies to join the conversation, though Mrs. Darcy cautioned her against mentioning the manuscript, averring that they needed some time away from it. That was resisted with difficulty, as Emma had only heard Mr. Knightley read parts of it aloud and had not read it for herself yet. So she asked instead about the weeks they had spent in London, prodding Georgiana to lead the narrative about balls and dinners and visits.

In the middle of her narrative of a ball in which Mrs. Darcy and Lady Eva went round and round finding tall partners for her and two of her school friends (that trio being rather tall, and the two married ladies being rather short), another visitor arrived. The housekeeper announced Mr. Averill, and Emma’s gaze darted quickly to Georgiana, whose narrative had come to an abrupt stop and whose cheeks had flushed. Emma did her best to keep from smiling too much, but it seemed that Georgiana’s stay in London had done nothing to alter Mr. Averill’s place with her.

Mr. Averill was too much a gentleman to focus on Georgiana as much as he might have wanted, though he did speak to her more than anyone else. Georgiana finished the story she was telling with a little incoherence, while Mrs. Darcy smiled and refused to help her straighten out the sequence of events. Emma merely plied them all with more tea.

Though Mr. Averill had been the last to arrive, he was the first to leave. Emma put her hands to the arms of the chair to rise, but Georgiana was quicker. “Oh, Emma, I am—I can see Mr. Averill out; do not trouble yourself,” she said, only tripping over her words once in her sudden burst of courage.

Emma would not dream of interfering, though she offered a token of resistance to the idea. Mr. Averill took his leave, and Georgiana walked out with him. At that moment, Mrs. Bergamot finally seemed interested in the present situation. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“All in good time, Lydia,” Mrs. Darcy replied. “All in good time.”

* * *

When the ladies returned home, Darcy got a gentle hint of what might transpire from Elizabeth. An hour or two later, there was a knock on the door of the study and his sister let herself in. She looked a little anxious, so he tried to be as kind as possible as he bade her sit and did not make her start the subject herself. “I understand you had a conversation with Mr. Averill this morning.”

Georgiana nodded. “He asked if he could walk me home from church tomorrow. I told him he could if you consented.”

“And do you expect something particular from this walk home from church?”

“I do. I think I do. No, I do.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Fitzwilliam, I want to apologize for all the teasing I did when you were courting Elizabeth. This is the worst kind of suspense.”

Darcy tried not to laugh. Instead, he rose and kissed the top of his sister’s head before walking around to the other side of the desk. “Well, he has my consent to walk you home tomorrow. But you know that when he does ask the greater question, it is not my consent you must seek.”

“I know. I don’t think Edmund will object.”

Darcy didn’t disagree. “Georgiana, I know you have taken your time, but I would be remiss if I didn’t say this. You have lived a certain lifestyle at Pemberley, in London, even with us, and while Mr. Averill is by no means poor, being Mrs. Averill of Donwell vicarage will not be like being Miss Darcy of Pemberley.”

“I know,” she said, and from her tone Darcy could tell that she really had thought of this before. “And I hope I do not sound ungrateful. Our parents gave me so much, and so have you and Edmund. But what our brother and sister do, even what Mr. and Mrs. Bingley do—it is not for me. I think I can do some good in this life. That is all—almost all I ask.”

“Almost?”

She blushed. “I would rather tell him what I feel before I tell you.”

The next day took them to church and brought them home again. Elizabeth stood talking with Mr. Averill until everyone else had left, shielding him and Georgiana from any prying eyes from the neighborhood. They were a good half hour behind Darcy and Elizabeth when they finally darkened the door at Glen Eyrie. It was all as expected: Mr. Averill had proposed and Georgiana had accepted. Averill seemed inclined to apologize for having done so on the Lord’s day, but Darcy waved him off. “The Lord ordained marriage, and proposals must be made in order to instigate marriages, so I think you will be forgiven.”

Elizabeth was getting a little weepy as she and Georgiana talked, so Darcy handed over one of the handkerchiefs she had covertly embroidered for him. While the others talked, he leaned over to his wife and said quietly, “It does not augur well for the wedding if you are weeping over them now.”

“It is hardly a proper wedding if no one is crying.”

“Well, you have plenty of wedding preparations before you, so I hope you can dry your eyes long enough to manage that.”

“It is a woman’s prerogative to weep and work at once, my dear.”

* * *

“So John Averill is marrying,” Knightley said to Emma over breakfast the following morning.

“It’s high time,” Emma said. “The vicarage is so empty without a mistress, and he cannot host the neighborhood without a wife.”

“I’m surprised you did not try to find a wife for him before now.”

“You are quite amusing this morning, Mr. Knightley,” Emma said dryly. “Mrs. Darcy had more to do with this match than I did, a fact for which I will admit a little envy.”

“Well, you shall have another cousin in the neighborhood, so you ought to take comfort in that,” he replied. “I am pleased for them both. I believe they will be very happy together.”

“Do you think people said that about us over their eggshells when our engagement was announced?”

“No.”

So quick and definitive was his response that Emma nearly dropped her cup. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know full well they did not,” Knightley replied. “At least many did not. A number of my closer acquaintance sought me out to ask if the rumor was true.”

“I—I—I do not know what to say.”

“Not to worry, Emma. They all came around on the matter when I made it clear that it was a choice we made with the proper amount of feeling,” he continued. “So they may not have professed belief in our future happiness over eggshells, but they certainly did over supper. Now, would you like to visit the bride-to-be this morning and wish her well?”

The day was overcast but not wet, so they took the phaeton over to Glen Eyrie. There they discovered that Edmund Darcy had also come, in response to an express sent by his brother on Saturday. His primary mission was, of course, to give his consent to his sister’s engagement.

As soon as this consent was given, Georgiana went flying out of the room and brought back Mrs. Bergamot a few minutes later. The latter was carrying the manuscript, tied up with ribbon. “Captain Darcy suggested I talk to you about sending this to publishers,” Mrs. Bergamot said. “I confess I know nothing about the business, but he thought you might know someone.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know someone,” Edmund replied, taking the bundle of papers gently. “I will take good care of this, Mrs. Bergamot. I know from my sister’s letters how hard you have been working. In fact, I wonder how she had time to accept Mr. Averill’s proposals with all the time she was working with you.”

“Oh, a lady may do five or six things at once with tolerable results,” Emma said, for Georgiana was flushed in embarrassment. “Surely you have observed that with your wife.”

“I suppose I have,” he admitted.

There was much to be done, of course. The Darcys were back to London the next week to buy Georgiana’s wedding clothes. The settlement was drawn up, and the license procured. There was much discussion in the matter, but eventually it was decided that the wedding would take place in Donwell church.

“Eva very much wanted me to marry in London or at Pemberley,” Georgiana said one morning when she was sitting with Emma. “And I understand why. In London all my friends could come to the wedding breakfast, and Pemberley has been my home all my life.”

“So why marry here?” Emma asked, trying to determine what mistake she had made in the gown she was making for the baby. She might have to ask Mrs. Darcy for help, as Mrs. Darcy was considerably superior with the needle.

Georgiana sighed. “You may think it terribly romantic of me, but Donwell will not just be my new parish. It will be my husband’s church. I will be mistress of the vicarage here and have all the responsibilities that come with it. I would like to start that life with him here, in this church.”

Emma set aside her sewing entirely and grinned. “It is terribly romantic of you,” she said. “But it’s sweet of you as well. And Eva will forgive you eventually, if she hasn’t already.”

“Oh, I think she just wanted the planning of the wedding breakfast,” Georgiana replied. “She is managing the rest of my wedding clothes, so her skills are being put to good use. And of course she and Edmund will come for the wedding.”

“That is excellent news. Hopefully this time no one will be snowed in at Glen Eyrie!”

“Indeed! How dreadful that would be!”

* * *

Elizabeth was happy to have all of the wedding business to keep her sister occupied, for Lydia’s spirits were rather depressed after giving up the manuscript she had worked so hard on. But there were new handkerchiefs to embellish and bonnets to trim, not to mention the wedding dress itself. Rather than purchasing tamboured muslin and trim for her gown, Georgiana had asked Elizabeth and Lydia to help her with it. So Lydia drew patterns, Georgiana marked them, and she and Elizabeth stitched and stitched.

They were halfway through with the gown when a most important letter arrived for Lydia. Elizabeth watched with sisterly pride as Lydia, hands trembling, broke the seal and read aloud, “‘Dear madam, we are pleased to make an offer to purchase your manuscript.’ Oh! I’m going to faint.”

This caused such laughter that it drew in a half-alarmed Darcy to see what was happening in Elizabeth’s sitting room. When all was explained and the room had settled down a little, he shook Lydia’s hand warmly. “I am very proud of you, Mrs. Bergamot, and you as well, Georgiana. You worked very hard on this, and I am pleased to see the effort rewarded.”

“I owe a great deal to Lizzy, too, for keeping all those letters I wrote,” Lydia said. “For I do not know how I would have written half so much if I had not had them.”

“I am glad it has all worked out. The two of you produced something wonderful,” Elizabeth replied.

Lydia was looking over the rest of the letter. “Oh! They ask if I could provide illustrations with captions. I had not even thought of that. I suppose I should start at once.”

“No, you must write back to them to accept their offer,” Georgiana pointed out. “And then we ought to write to my brother and Knightley to thank them for their help, and _then_ you can work on the illustrations.”

“Oh, of course!”

Georgiana herded Lydia from the room, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone. “Well,” he said, “this is a pleasant ending to the matter.”

“You think it is an ending?” Elizabeth replied. “I heard Lydia telling Georgiana last night about an idea she had for a novel.”

Darcy groaned. “I should purchase more paper, then.”

* * *

Excerpted, from Mr. John Averill to Miss Georgiana Darcy:

I have no excuse for writing you tonight, except that I can think of nothing but you. I walk through the vicarage and look at the improvements Knightley and I undertook two years ago and wonder, will my wife approve of them? Will she decide the planting of the gardens this spring? The house is comfortable now, but with you it will be the home I have dreamt of.

Our wedding day seems too far away, my love. But in seventeen days God will join us together, and our new life will begin.


	13. In which there is rather too much excitement

Excerpted, from Mrs. H. Charles Bingley, to Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy:

Do give Mrs. K my sincerest congratulations on the upcoming addition to her family. She and Mr. K must be so pleased. Given Mrs. W’s baby, Mrs. K’s, and your own news, the two parishes have a great many new residents to welcome this year.

Indeed, I am delighted beyond the telling to know you will be a mother before the year is out. After witnessing your tenderness with little Birdie, I have no doubt that your child will be among the luckiest in England. If you wish it, Charles and I will do our best to be with you when your lying-in comes. God willing, we will have a new addition of our own to introduce to you then.

* * *

At precisely seven past noon, on the last day of April, the culmination of much anxiety and activity arrived at Randalls in the form of a wailing newborn. Mrs. Weston was safely delivered of a son, to be christened Theophilus, after Mrs. Weston’s father. “Oh, isn’t he perfect?” Mrs. Weston was heard to say once and again, as soon as the little one was in her arms.

“Look at his handsome face!” Mrs. Knightley cooed, somewhat to Elizabeth’s surprise. “He will break hearts before he can walk.”

In fact, the whole experience had been a surprise to Elizabeth, from the moment of invitation to its conclusion. She and Mrs. Knightley were the only two ladies present who had not given birth. As a result, they spent a good deal of their time sitting by with their sewing while the other ladies talked about their own experience in the birthing bed. At least it gave her plenty of time to sew.

After the birth, when Mrs. Weston needed to rest, Elizabeth let Mrs. Knightley lean on her arm as they descended the stairs. The exertion seemed to take a great deal of effort from her, so Elizabeth begged her to sit in the drawing room for a little while. Mrs. Knightley declined offers to get her anything, so Elizabeth sat near her, feeling torn between trusting the other woman to know and speak her mind, and the possibility that she was trying not to impose upon a very busy household. With Mrs. Knightley’s well-being off the table, that left only one topic safe for discussion. “The birth seemed an easy one.”

“Did it? I fear I am not a good judge. The only other delivery I have attended was Mrs. Weston’s first.”

That did startle Elizabeth. “But your sister—I thought she lived in London.”

“She did,” Mrs. Knightley continued. “My father…” There she paused and sighed. “My father was an older man when I was born, and older than his years in his habits.”

“He was protective of you,” Elizabeth surmised.

Mrs. Knightley hesitated. “I suppose he was when I was a child, but it was not very many years before he was more dependent upon me. I could not leave him, even for something so momentous as my sister’s lying-in.”

“However did you marry, then?”

“I am surprised you do not know already. Mr. Knightley came and lived with us at Hartfield until my father’s death.”

“That is an extraordinary gesture.”

“Very much. I knew before then that he was a great man, but that convinced me that he is the very best of men.” She smiled. “Your own excellent husband notwithstanding.”

Elizabeth smiled too, then looked down at her hands for a moment. “Was your father ill very long?”

“No, he died quite suddenly,” Mrs. Knightley replied, blinking rapidly. “Forgive me. It is still not an easy subject.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth murmured. “My father was ill for months. At first he would only smile and say he had more time for reading—you must understand, he read many hours of the day before—but by the end he was so weak that he could not hold a book for more than a few minutes. Before that year I traveled often, but not then.”

Mrs. Knightley nodded. “My father could not have borne it to have me away, even for something as important as Isabella’s children’s births. I never even broached the subject. He was always a little hurt that her marriage took her away, and if Mr. Knightley had not offered to live at Hartfield I do not know that I could have married at all.”

Mrs. Knightley looked away then, wiping her eyes, and Elizabeth decided to revert to the previous subject. “I take it you are no more experienced in the delivery room than I am,” she said. “I was there when Jane gave birth to my niece. She did not have an easy time of it, and that first night after the birth, we all thought we would lose them both. It was weeks before Jane was strong enough to get out of bed. I spent a great deal of time sitting with her in the bed and holding Birdie so she could be near her child.” Mrs. Knightley’s eyes were wide. “Oh, I do not mean to alarm you!” Elizabeth cried.

“I am not alarmed,” Mrs. Knightley said, “for it is nothing I have not heard before. Mrs. Bingley was fortunate to have you with her. I hope when the time comes, you will be with me as well.”

Elizabeth had not entirely anticipated this. The invitation made her smile a little. “If you will reciprocate a few months after that.”

Emma grinned. “Of course I will. Oh! But first you must help me determine where I have gone wrong with this gown,” she said, pulling out the offending article. “I have never been so scatter-brained with sewing as I have been these last few months. I hope my child does not have to rely solely on me to clothe it, else it shall be of all children in the parish most pitiable.”

They sat together, looking over the garment to determine what had gone wrong, and were still thus employed when Darcy entered the drawing room. “Elizabeth, Emma, is everything well?” he asked.

“Oh, forgive us,” Elizabeth replied. “The house is somewhat in uproar with everything going on, and we did not mean to stay here for so long.”

“Well, as I understand Mrs. Weston is safely delivered, I am come to take you home.”

They took Mrs. Knightley to Donwell first, and on the ride back to Glen Eyrie, under heavy clouds, Elizabeth said, “I told your cousin about the baby.”

He looked at her quickly, then smiled as he turned back to look at the road. “I am glad.”

Strangely, Elizabeth was too.

The wedding was fast approaching, and they had devoted so much time to finishing Georgiana’s _trousseau_ that that she had hardly had any time for her beau in days. But when the Darcys returned from Randalls, they found the highly improbable scene of Lydia trying to calm Georgiana down. “Mr. Averill sent a note,” Lydia explained. “His mother and grandfather arrived for the wedding this morning and are coming here within the hour. Really, Georgiana, I can’t imagine why this has you so agitated.”

“His grandfather is an earl!” Georgiana retorted.

“So is your uncle, and you had no trouble dining with peers when we were in London,” Darcy pointed out.

“Oh, that is London. None of that matters, and this is John’s mother and grandfather,” she replied. “I do not wish to make a poor impression.”

“Dear girl,” Elizabeth said, pressing a kiss to Georgiana’s cheek, “just make sure there are no snakes about and I am sure they will love you.”

“Elizabeth, I really expected you to have better advice than Lydia did!”

The rest had to swallow their laughter quickly, for a carriage was heard coming down the lane and they all had to be ready to receive these most important guests. A few minutes later, in came Mr. Averill, with his handsome mother and stately grandfather. Elizabeth glanced at Georgiana, who had pulled herself into the posture she employed when about to play before strangers. At least she looked elegant enough.

Mr. Averill made the introductions properly and efficiently, and Elizabeth tried to channel Jane in serenity, for Georgiana’s sake. “Welcome to Glen Eyrie,” she said. “We are delighted to make your acquaintance.”

They all seated themselves, and Elizabeth seized upon her needlework, hoping Georgiana would take it as a sign that this was no different than any other social call. Fortunately Mr. Averill was slightly less nervous about the whole matter than Georgiana was. “My mother and grandfather were saying as we approached that Glen Eyrie seems a very promising place,” he said. “I was telling them that you are the first permanent mistress for the house in almost twenty years, Mrs. Darcy.”

Elizabeth bowed her head in thanks. “The house is very comfortably fitted, but Captain Darcy and I have some decisions to make regarding the gardens and the plantations. The former owner—or soon-to-be former—was rather haphazard with the grounds. Fond of improvements but not particularly consistent with them.”

“The woods are very fine, though,” Georgiana put in. “I never thought I should see anything to compare to Pemberley’s woods, but between Glen Eyrie and the Abbey, there are some very beautiful wooded paths.”

“Pemberley!” Lord Averill cried, with fond memory evident. “I have not been there since your grandfather was alive, I think. Is its library still the crown jewel of the place?”

That got Georgiana to smile a little. “Yes, my lord, perhaps even more so than when you were last there.”

“I am glad to hear it. When John told me he was marrying a Darcy, I told him he ought to start laying aside to build an addition to the vicarage, to house all the books his bride will doubtless bring to the marriage.”

Georgiana blushed as she looked at Mr. Averill, who looked sheepishly happy over his grandfather’s gentle teasing.

From there all was easier. Lady Tyndale asked after Elizabeth’s sewing. “Oh!” said she, “now that we are finished with Georgiana’s new things, I am back to sewing for babies. In fact, we have a new young gentleman in the neighborhood, born just this morning.”

This was met with the approbation which usually met the birth of sons, and Elizabeth was prevailed upon to give a report of the newborn. “He has very strong lungs, all the requisite fingers and toes, and the sweetest blue eyes,” she said. “Mr. and Mrs. Weston have decided to name him Theophilus.”

“That will be a burden,” Lord Averill remarked.

“It means ‘lover of God,’ does it not?” Georgiana asked.

“It does indeed,” Mr. Averill replied. “I did not know you knew any Greek.”

“Very little, I assure you. But he will fare better than my cousin Jehoshaphat.”

“Poor man!” Lady Tyndale said, though she was smiling.

Elizabeth then invited them to stay for dinner, and she was on the point of seeking the housekeeper to inform her that their guests were to stay, when the sound of a sudden surge of rain filled the room. Darcy shot up from his chair to look at the window. “That is the heaviest rain I have ever seen on land,” he remarked, awe in his voice. “Forgive us, my lord, my lady, but if this persists, you may be our guests longer yet.”

“It is no matter to us, I am sure,” Lady Tyndale said. “It will give us more time to become acquainted with Miss Darcy.”

Though Miss Darcy smiled, Elizabeth thought she was not entirely pleased by the prospect.

* * *

At Donwell, the deluge was met with a little more dismay. “Was it not a storm like this last year which washed out the bridge?” Emma asked of her husband. “You said then you had not seen so much rain in twenty years.”

Mr. Knightley hummed, frowning at the sight. “We had a foot of snow at Christmas, a solid fortnight of rain, and now this,” he said. “So much water.”

“And it must go somewhere,” Emma mused.

“Concerned about the cellars?”

“I _am_ of half a mind to direct that some things be moved above ground, but that is not the pressing concern. This is the highest point of the estate. If we have cause for concern, what must everyone else be thinking?”

Emma had long since learned not to lay by in store with her predictions, but this time she really had made something of a prophetic utterance. The sky was so dark and close that candles had to be lit, though it was scarcely three o’clock. Knightley went off with William Larkins, for there was much to monitor and manage. Inside the Abbey, Emma found the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Knightley,” said Mrs. Hodges, her surprise evident. “I was just coming to see you.”

Emma laid her hand over her abdomen, for the baby was restless. “You were?”

“Yes, ma’am. The storm—I have not seen such a storm since Mr. Knightley was a boy,” Mrs. Hodges replied.

“And every stream and pond in the area is already high,” Emma said.

Mrs. Hodges nodded. “If the cellars flood, we will lose everything down there.”

“Then get as many people as you can to clear them out,” Emma ordered. “But I am concerned about more than the Abbey. Some of the tenant farmers may need to be sheltered here until the waters recede.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll make way for them.”

Her concerns were borne out early. The clock had barely finished chiming seven when the Martin women and their servants arrived, dripping, shivering, and muddy. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Knightley,” Harriet said, clutching her baby in one arm and the oilcloth-wrapped family Bible in the other, while Miss Martin carried Harriet’s older child and Mrs. Martin followed. “The water was rising and we did not know where else to go.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, taking the Bible that seemed perilously close to slipping out of Harriet’s grasp. “But surely you did not walk all this way?”

“No, not all. Robert brought us in a cart, only we had to come up the hill a little way, for the horse could not pull us all up in the mud.”

As Harriet talked, Emma bustled her and the rest of the Martins upstairs, while Mrs. Hodges saw to their servants. In a spare room a fire was blazing to get them dry and warm again. Before Emma left them alone, Harriet told her that her husband was joining Mr. Knightley and John Knightley in investigating the road into Highbury.

Outside, the rain was still pounding down. They were in for a long, long night.

* * *

Similar preparations were underway at Glen Eyrie, though that house stood on the highest point in the immediate area and the cellars were less of a concern. Instead, Elizabeth had to devote a little of her time to her unanticipated guests. Lord Averill and Lady Tyndale were gracious and understanding. Elizabeth had no fear that Georgiana was unequal to the task, but she felt some guilt leaving her sister to do so much of the entertaining.

But the larger problem was with Lydia. At the first crack of thunder, she grew suddenly agitated. Every quarter hour her anxiety increased, until the slamming of a door brought her to uncharacteristic tears. “Lydia, dear, whatever is wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

Lydia was crying far too hard to answer. Georgiana and their guests were out of the room but likely to return at any moment. Elizabeth first offered tea and then offered to take her upstairs to lie down. Then Darcy crouched before her and took her hand. “Mrs. Bergamot,” he said, then shook his head. “Lydia, it is only a storm. You are safe with us, here in England.”

Darcy continued to speak softly, and Elizabeth watched in wonder as Lydia gradually grew calmer. Before long, she had settled enough to ask that a tray be sent to her upstairs. Elizabeth readily agreed and took her up to her room herself. When she came back down, she found Darcy and said, “I am all astonishment, Fitzwilliam. How did you know what to say to her?”

He drew her close and kissed the top of her head. “I have seen that before, or something like it,” he said. “Men who have been in battle will sometimes have difficulty coping with the memory of it. Sometimes the strangest things would provoke such trouble, not at all like the original incident, at least to the rest of us.”

“And today, the storm…”

“And the darkness, I suspect.”

“Poor Lydia,” Elizabeth murmured. “Does it get better?”

“She should not often find herself with such pressing reminders,” Darcy said. “I am only speculating, of course. And it has been little more than a year since her flight from Java.”

“Of course.”

For a time they were silent, until a knock at the door intruded on their privacy and Elizabeth withdrew from her her husband’s embrace. Georgiana entered, hands clasped behind her back. “Is Lydia well, Elizabeth?”

“I—I am sure she will be,” Elizabeth replied. “I think we must expect this from time to time. She is hardly fragile, but…”

“But she would have to be something less than human not to feel the effects of her experience,” Darcy added.

Georgiana nodded. “Should I look in on her before I dress for dinner?”

“If you like,” Elizabeth said, “but go now. Dinner will be served soon.”

“I will.”

Georgiana hesitated, though, and Elizabeth sighed. “Is something else wrong?”

“No, it is just... I am not sure John’s mother altogether approves of me.”

Had there not been so many pressing concerns for Elizabeth, she might have been a little gentler, but bluntness was all she had time for. “And I thought your cousin Emma hated me for quite some time. Suffice it to say that first impressions are not to be trusted.”

Georgiana was almost gaping at her as Elizabeth left to see to the Averills.

Their guests were gracious about the circumstances, but during the meal and the time after, Elizabeth began to gather what exactly Georgiana had sensed. Lady Tyndale seemed wary. She conducted her interrogation in a ladylike manner, but an interrogation it remained. She asked searching questions about her family, her connections, her education, and her accomplishments. Elizabeth could not ascertain what Lady Tyndale’s point was. Did she think Georgiana was insufficiently grand for her son? What on earth did she expect for the mistress of a vicarage?

After they had all retired for the evening, Elizabeth tapped on Georgiana’s door and slipped inside. “I am sorry for dismissing your concerns earlier,” she said. “I don’t know what Lady Tyndale’s motive is.”

“Nor do I!” Georgiana blew out a long breath. “Am I too young? Not refined enough? I cannot even ask John, for I have not have a moment alone with him today.”

Elizabeth let the moment linger until she could help herself no longer. “ _Were_ there any snakes about?”

Georgiana shook her head slightly and smiled. “I did actually look once.”

Elizabeth laughed and came to sit with her. “My dear, one of the lessons we must all learn at some point, I think, is that not everyone’s character may be worked out in an evening. You and I liked each other very well from the start, I think.”

“Oh, yes!” Georgiana interjected.

“But Mrs. Knightley and I did not. Or perhaps it is more fair to say that I disliked her, because I did not understand her,” Elizabeth said. “You would have to ask her for her side of the subject. But I will say this: do not give up on Lady Tyndale just yet. Perhaps she is just difficult to understand. And if it transpires that she really does dislike you, then at least she lives in Yorkshire and not nearer.”

Georgiana laughed a little. “Thank you for putting me more at ease. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Come with me to see Lydia. If she is awake, she will want someone to talk to.”

Lydia was indeed awake, and perhaps a little embarrassed by her earlier episode. Elizabeth decided to let the subject lie unless Lydia brought it up. She rang for tea and busied herself serving her sisters while Georgiana unburdened herself with all that had transpired with Mr. Averill’s mother. Lydia offered sympathy, but in her own way. “Perhaps you should have had a snake about you.”

Georgiana and Elizabeth both nearly choked on their tea.

Eventually Lydia did address her own situation. “I am sorry I was not there to help. I am not sure what came over me.”

Elizabeth reached for her sister’s hand. “Fitzwilliam said he had seen such before, that men who have fought in battles will sometimes have such a spell as you did.”

She expected Lydia to protest that she was no soldier, but oddly the comparison cheered her. “I have not been in war, but I suppose what I saw was close enough,” she said. Then she sobered. “This storm—it reminds me of the storm when we were coming round Cape Horn. When my husband… when he died.”

It was the first time Lydia had ever acknowledged that. Elizabeth did not expect more from her. Instead she wrapped her arms around her little sister’s shoulders and held on tightly.

All the while, the winds raged; the torrent of rain continued long after they were all abed. For Elizabeth it was a fitful night, and she woke for good early in the morning, as the storm was finally abating. “Little Theophilus had a tumultuous first day,” she murmured to herself, for her husband was still asleep. She ran her hand down over her abdomen, pressing lightly and feeling the child push back, something she had delightedly discovered two days ago. “I hope yours is not so wild, little one.”

She could not fall asleep again, so she rose not an hour after the servants’ bell. Well before breakfast, she and the housekeeper had made a thorough inspection of the damage around the house. There had been a little flooding in the cellars but nothing to cause great alarm. Elizabeth sent a few servants to check on the tenants, and their reports were more distressing. No lives had been lost, but at least two houses would likely need to be rebuilt in the aftermath.

Georgiana was up early too, though not as early as Elizabeth had been. While Elizabeth sipped her tea, Georgiana picked up the list she and the housekeeper had compiled. “Is there anything I can help with, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked up at her appraisingly. “Do you think you and Mrs. Davies might be able to handle all of this yourselves?”

Georgiana’s gaze snapped back to Elizabeth. “Are you unwell?”

“No, but think about it: Donwell Abbey is on much lower ground, and Mrs. Knightley will probably be struggling to deal with all the trouble they must be having today. Yesterday she had to rest for half an hour after walking down a flight of stairs.”

“Does my brother know you are planning to go to Donwell?”

Elizabeth set aside her tea, rose, and fetched her shawl and bonnet from a nearby table. “No. He will be busy all day with the aftermath of this and will probably be at Donwell a good part of the day anyway.” She kissed Georgiana’s cheek and added, “You may tell him if you like.”

“Elizabeth!” Georgiana cried, but Elizabeth was determined, and already halfway gone.


	14. In which the waters break

From Mr. John Averill, to Miss Georgiana Darcy:

Dearest, forgive me for not taking leave of you before my grandfather and I left. Your brother and sister’s hospitality is much appreciated, but this morning I have received word of great damage in the parish, and needs which call me away.

* * *

By morning several more tenants had arrived at Donwell seeking shelter. Mr. Knightley had only been back at the Abbey for a few hours between midnight and dawn. Emma had not slept well for a week or more, and so was awake to see him off. He spoke about the night’s events at some length while he dressed. Emma was only grateful that it had happened so early that many things might be replanted. The shepherds had been fortunate too, for they had driven their herds to higher ground to ride out the storm. As Knightley sat to put on his boots, he said, “Mrs. Martin and her family arrived here last night, did they not?”

“Yes, they were the first to come up to the house.”

Knightley nodded. “Good. Robert Martin rode up towards Kingston late last night. We are all concerned about the dam between here and there. If it breaks, we may see yet more flooding.”

Emma looked to the window. “At least the rain has stopped.”

“Yes, we have one mercy.” With his boots now on, he rose and came to kiss Emma’s forehead. “I will try to come by the Abbey more today than I did yesterday, but I make no guarantees.”

“I understand,” Emma replied. Donwell was his home—his ancestral home, the home where they would raise their child. To ensure its continuance was to ensure the future of his family, not to mention the community of which he took so much care. “Mrs. Hodges and I have everything well in hand here. You needn’t worry.”

“Needn’t, but likely shall,” he said, his smile tired as he touched her abdomen almost reverently. The baby was restless, the cause of Emma’s own sleeplessness.

“George, take care of yourself too,” she said, with quiet urgency.

At that he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her as though he were desperate for her. It reminded Emma of the heady days of their engagement, when the slightest touch was intoxicating and left her aching for more. But now there was no time for such desire or its fulfillment. She pulled away from him with some difficulty. For a moment they stared at each other, each breathing deeply, and Emma shuddered at the darkness of her husband’s eyes.

Neither of them spoke, but what words would suffice in such a moment? He turned away and left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Emma sat down on the bed again and scolded herself out of weeping.

She took herself downstairs as soon as she could trust her emotions again, for there really was so much to do. Well over a dozen tenants and their families had arrived in the course of the night, in various states of disarray. Fresh clothing had to be acquired for some, children had to be cosseted, and of course they all had to be fed.

It was hard to believe that just one day ago, Emma had been called to Mrs. Weston’s delivery and she had been so exhausted by everything. Now, with a real crisis at hand, she had no need to push herself beyond what she was able. She simply did what was necessary.

She had just presided over the pinning back of doors and moving of tables and chairs to make an impromptu dining room for all their guests when a maid came looking for her, breathless from rushing. “Forgive me, Mrs. Knightley, but Mrs. Darcy is here.”

The maid was followed shortly by Mrs. Darcy herself. “Good heavens!” Emma cried. “Is anything the matter at Glen Eyrie?”

“No, indeed,” Mrs. Darcy replied, “else I would not have left my sisters to do the work. But I thought you could use some help.”

“Did Fitzwilliam bring you?”

“No, but I am sure he will be along before the morning is out.” She put on a cheerful smile. “What assistance can I render, Mrs. Knightley?”

Having Mrs. Darcy at hand turned out to be a tremendous blessing, for to respond to the question required a discovery of the answer. They interviewed the Donwell servants to ascertain what had been lost during the night. By the time that was through, the tenants’ families had finished their breakfast and could be asked similar questions about their own houses.

The abbey itself had come out with relatively little damage, but the same could not be said for the rest of the estate. The scope of destruction was almost unfathomable. After listening to more than one account of a harrowing escape, Emma and Elizabeth walked down the avenue, now strewn with branches and rocks and debris. From the end of it, they took in the view of Abbey Mill Farm and beyond.

Sun glinted off a lake which had yesterday been pastureland. For a moment Emma thought of her first glimpse of the sea, but the memory was fleeting. The wind had brought down limbs and whole trees; the water had swept them far and wide. The gravel walk to the Abbey Mill house was washed away, and one line of espalier trees was mangled with uprooted fencing. The mill and the house, being stone, were still standing, but a tree limb had knocked a hole in the roof of the mill.

Beyond Abbey Mill, the devastation began. The pastureland would have to be cleared of debris as soon as the water receded, but the real difficulty was that several of the outbuildings had sustained serious damage. It was hard to believe that one storm had done all this damage. Of course, it was not really one storm, but a succession of events which had slowly laid preparation for all of this. Emma doubted there was a single house east of the mill which had not borne the brunt of the storm.

She was grateful that no lives had been lost, that she had the resources to give them shelter, but there was so much loss. She could not begin to think how they would recover from it.

“Mrs. Knightley,” Elizabeth finally said, “I think we should go back.”

At that point Emma realized that her grip on Elizabeth’s arm had tightened, probably to the point of pain. The other woman was good enough not to say anything about it. They walked back to the house, and Emma fought the urge to cry by asking questions. “How has Glen Eyrie fared?”

“There will be some rebuilding to do, but the captain and I had spoken of improvements to the tenants’ houses in the next year or two anyway,” Elizabeth said. “We will simply have to accelerate those plans.”

“Some of ours arrived last night with a trunk or two of belongings, but most had nothing at all. Poor Harriet Martin came with her family and her family Bible and little else.” They were passing through the entry of the house, and as soon as they reached chairs, Emma sat down.

Elizabeth sat beside her. “I confess, after seeing that I am more than a little concerned with how the rest of the neighborhood has fared.”

Emma frowned. She knew her husband would be tied up with the situation at Donwell and the worries about the dam between them and Kingston, and John and likely Darcy with him. Randalls had a newborn under its roof, and Isabella would have her hands full with Hartfield. It ought to have fallen to Mrs. Elton, but Mrs. Elton had yet to demonstrate the sort of care for their community which would lead her to think to do such a thing. Such concerns had fallen to Emma’s domain when she was only twelve, and she was by no means inclined to relinquish that responsibility.

“Why can we not see for ourselves?” she asked at last.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then shut it and frowned. “I cannot think of a reason.”

“Our husbands could probably conjure up several.”

“Yes, because they are unfailingly rational creatures.”

Emma smiled and shook her head. “How were we ever at odds with each other?”

* * *

Highbury, in its natural state, was a busy place, full of the activity of country life. It had charmed Elizabeth from the first as a bustling market town, somehow retaining the character of a village even with its size. It greeted all newcomers with a sense of belonging, its society adapting to every new person with a feeling that they were always meant to be there.

It was a ghost of its usual self now. The clip-clop of their horse’s hoofs echoed slightly as they drove through. Trees lay in the square, rocks had been washed in, and water marks stained a number of buildings, a foot from the ground. Elizabeth was shaken to see it. She could not imagine what Emma was feeling, to see her home since childhood so altered.

Whenever they encountered someone, they would stop and ask what was lost and what was needed. Emma had had the presence of mind to bring a pencil and some paper so she could make note of what they learned. It was a sobering thought for Elizabeth. The two women were almost the same age, but Emma had spent half her life running a household and caring for a community, whereas Elizabeth had barely spent half a year in such pursuits. It would be years before she had that instinct so finely honed.

Their last stop in Highbury was Mrs. Goddard’s school. Everything seemed a little neater there, a little less affected, and for a moment, Elizabeth and Emma considered driving on. But then a window opened and a girl leaned out. “Mrs. Knightley!” she cried. “Mrs. Knightley, my sister and Hetty and Miss Nash, they’re trapped!”

The girl dashed back in before a question could be asked. Emma brought the phaeton to a stop and Elizabeth hopped out as soon as it was safe. A boy came out to help with the horse while Elizabeth ran inside. The girl had come from the window to the door to intercept her. “They went—they went into the housekeeper’s room—and—and—”

“Catch your breath, my dear,” Elizabeth said. “They are trapped in the housekeeper’s room?” The girl nodded, so Elizabeth continued, “Then lead me there, and after that come back for Mrs. Knightley.”

When she arrived at their destination, she found yet more confusion and disarray. Eventually she understood that Mrs. Goddard was in London at present along with one of the teachers and the housekeeper had gone overnight to her sister’s, meaning Miss Nash alone had charge over forty girls and the servants during the night’s storm. She and a servant and a student had gone into the housekeeper’s room, and when they closed the door behind them, it was soon clear that the door was stuck.

By the time Emma joined Elizabeth and the rest, Elizabeth had learned that the trio had been stuck in that room half the morning now. “Is there no window you can climb from?” Elizabeth called through the door.

“It is too high!” Miss Nash called back.

“Was there water in here overnight?” Emma asked of the parlor boarders who stood nearby.

One of the girls nodded. “Only back here.”

Elizabeth and Emma looked at each other. “The door must have absorbed enough water to swell,” Emma said.

“Miss Nash, can you kick the door at the bottom to dislodge it?” Elizabeth asked. An attempt was made, but to no avail, and the other parlor boarder burst into tears. Elizabeth, having never been to school and having no notion of whether a teacher could be beloved, did not quite know what to do about it. She examined the door instead, then said to Emma, “If we took the pins out of the hinges…”

“We might be able to ease the door out of the frame,” Emma finished.

Elizabeth was much too short to reach the top hinge, but a box was easily found which she could stand upon and stretch up to pull the pin. “We ought to have brought Georgiana,” she said, standing on her toes and bracing herself with a palm on the door.

“She certainly would have an easier time of it,” Emma remarked. “Oh, do be careful, Mrs. Darcy!”

“There!” Elizabeth cried, finally jerking the pin free. It went flying out of her hand as she stumbled back. She managed to catch herself against the opposite wall, but the pin was heard ricocheting down the narrow corridor. “Find it! The last thing we need is to lose the pins!”

That got the crowd of onlookers to disperse, hunting for the pin, and left Elizabeth and Emma alone. “I must admit, I am not sure how we will dislodge the door once the pins are out,” Elizabeth remarked.

“And it seemed like such a good idea,” Emma said dryly.

“Every idea does, at some point,” Elizabeth countered, as she yanked out the second pin. “Oh! Here, take this before I fling it across the house as well.”

Emma took that pin, and the last one too. By then the girls had recovered the first one and it was time for Elizabeth to improvise the next part of the rescue. “Miss Nash, we have the hinges unfastened,” she said through the door. “I am going to count three, and then I need you three to push against the door as high and hard as you can. Can you do that?”

Miss Nash called back her assent, and Elizabeth turned to the boy who had returned from securing their horse, for she thought the ladies would need all the help they could get. “Stand here,” she said, positioning him a little to the side of the door, “and pull the handle as hard as you can at the count.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Miss Nash?” Elizabeth called one last time.

“We are ready!”

“One, two, three!”

As the push and pull commenced, Elizabeth remembered that morning last autumn, when Fitzwilliam helped her cross the stream. This was not over so fast. The door creaked and groaned with every attempt. When a gap emerged along the top and side of the doorway, a cheer went up from the gathered students. Then, with one last great heave, the door gave way. The ladies tumbled out of the room and Elizabeth snatched the boy out of the way to keep him from being pinned between the door and the wall.

“Oh, Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. Darcy, bless you, bless you” was heard again and again as they came out of the back of the house. The two ladies declined offers of refreshment, content to have helped with the only real difficulty at the school. 

They escaped the house and got ready to leave. Emma looked a little pained, and it gave Elizabeth pause. “Emma,” she began, and the other woman looked at her, seemingly startled. “Emma, are you quite well?”

“As well as I have been in some days,” she replied. “Would you mind if we went straight to Donwell? I am sure someone can drive you home if you would prefer not to walk.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said. She remembered seeing that look on Jane’s face once, and she would not for the world leave Emma alone right now.

* * *

Emma had been uncomfortable throughout the whole of her pregnancy, and now she had reached a point where her back simply ached all the time. When there was something to do, she could very easily keep her mind off it, but standing in Mrs. Goddard’s while Elizabeth helped liberate the women trapped in the housekeeper’s room had only compounded the problem.

Though she kept her eyes on the road as she drove back towards Donwell, Emma could feel her companion’s concern along the way. After several minutes, she finally said, “Mrs. Darcy, I hope you are not worrying about me when there is so much more that needs our attention.”

“I am perfectly capable of worrying on many fronts at once,” Elizabeth replied. “My mother worried about everything every day of her life.” They were coming up on a bend in the road, after which they would cross the bridge and head down to Donwell, a quarter mile away. Elizabeth, though, laid her hand on Emma’s arm. “Do you hear that?”

Emma stopped the carriage and strained to hear. Somewhere nearby, water was rushing.

With a cold, sinking feeling, she looked at Elizabeth. “The dam,” she said. “The dam must have broken.”

With a whip of the reins they started off again, more urgently now. They came around the curve and were on top of the stream immediately, for it was well beyond its banks. The base of the bridge was still visible, but if they did not cross quickly, they would be trapped on this side until the waters receded.

“Go, go!” Elizabeth cried. “For I have been stuck in this stream once before and would rather not repeat the experience!”

Emma urged the horse faster; the phaeton rumbled along until they met the water’s edge with a great splash. From there the horse had a harder time of pulling them, for the ground was soft and the wheels were starting to dig in. The water was rising, rushing; if they did not reach the bridge in time, they could be in a world of trouble.

The moment hooves met the bridge, the horse strained forward, doubtless knowing the danger himself. It was only a few seconds until they were across, but to Emma it felt an age passed. This bridge was new; the old one had swept away in a far less drastic storm less than a year ago. She was sure her heart had frozen as they raced up and down again, hitting the water on the other side with greater speed. The phaeton bounced and jerked its way up the bank, until finally they were on the low ridge, beyond the water.

Emma brought the horse to a stop slowly, letting him cool down before they continued on their way. The two ladies looked down at the stream they had just crossed, each breathless from the excitement. Elizabeth laughed as she caught her breath, and Emma did too. “Does Highbury flood often?” Elizabeth asked.

“Often enough.” Emma shook her head. “I should be very happy never to do that again.”

“I suppose we could have got a boat and rowed across,” Elizabeth suggested. “I have certainly listened to enough of my husband’s stories to make a creditable effort.”

“And I surely would have joined you in that, were it not for my condition.” Emma laid her hand over her abdomen. The baby had evidently caught its mother’s excitement, for it was considerably more restless than at any time since she rose early that morning.

“We are not far from Donwell,” Elizabeth said. “Let us get you home again. I believe we have both had enough for one day.”

Emma urged the horse to walk on, and they slowly made their way back. “How were you stuck in that stream before?” Emma asked.

“Oh!” Elizabeth said, blushing. “It was the morning Fitzwilliam made his proposals. I was in a terrible mood, and I made a very poor choice to try crossing near the vicarage despite some of the stepping stones being underwater.”

“Oh dear!” Emma replied, laughing. “Did my cousin rescue you?”

“After a fashion, I suppose. Really he helped me rescue myself.”

Emma looked at the woman with her, once an antagonist, now cousin and perhaps even friend. “I am very glad he did.”

Elizabeth briefly squeezed her hand. “As am I.”

They drove on to Donwell in a comfortable silence, and when they went into the house Emma leaned on Elizabeth’s arm. Mrs. Hodges was there to greet them. “I am very glad to see you, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, “for Mr. Knightley sent word that he is coming up with the other gentlemen.”

“Probably not for long. Here, we have a list from those we called on in Highbury, of what damage has been sustained and what the most immediate needs are. But on our way back we found the water terribly high. The Kingston dam must have burst.”

“Is Captain Darcy with Mr. Knightley?” Elizabeth asked.

“I believe so, Mrs. Darcy.”

With another pang in her back, Emma winced. “Emma?” Elizabeth said, looking at her sharply, while the housekeeper stepped forward.

Emma was on the point of dismissing their concern when the pain intensified, like the tightening of a fist. Her eyes went wide as she realized what must be happening.

“I—I think it would be very good if someone found Mrs. Yackley, and sent for my sister.”

* * *

As soon as she understood Emma’s meaning, Elizabeth ushered her up the stairs. “I did not think you were due to be delivered for at least a few weeks,” Elizabeth said.

“There was some disagreement between Mrs. Yackley and my sister,” Emma explained. “Mrs. Yackley did not attend any of Isabella’s lying-ins; my nieces and nephews were all born in town with an _accoucheur_.”

“I would not have taken Mrs. John Knightley to be quite so fashionable in such matters.”

“Oh, her Mr. Wingfield in town recommended the man, and really, one can hardly argue with the results.”

Elizabeth did not leave Emma’s side for well over an hour, when Mr. Knightley, Isabella, and the midwife had arrived. At that point she did slip downstairs to see her own husband. “Elizabeth!” he said upon seeing her. “I—I hardly know what to say. I could not believe you had left without a word this morning.”

“I know. I ought to have spoken to you,” she replied. “But I remembered what Emma was like yesterday and I just… I needed to be here, Fitzwilliam. I needed to be with her.”

What sternness was in his mien soon vanished. “I am very glad you were with my cousin. And I understand you rescued some wayward schoolgirls this morning.”

Elizabeth smiled. “A servant, a schoolgirl, and a teacher, as a matter of fact.”

He pulled her into a light embrace. “You shall have to tell me all about it.”

“Have you been home lately?”

“Yes, we stopped by there on the way. I had hoped you would be home again.”

“Georgiana?”

“Has matters well in hand, with Lydia’s help. Lady Tyndale is still there as well. Averill went out into the parish, and his grandfather accompanied him.”

Elizabeth relaxed against him a little. “What a nightmare this has been.”

“Yes, but nightmares pass, my dear. And perhaps we will come out of this one stronger.” He drew back a little and fixed her with his keen gaze. “And you? Are you well?”

“We both are,” she replied, with a brief touch of her abdomen. “But it may be many hours before I can be home again. Emma asked me to be with her through this, and I cannot go back on my word.”

Darcy smiled fondly. “No, indeed.”


	15. In which camaraderie rules the day

Around midnight, the wind picked up around Donwell Abbey, though without rain. Elizabeth was in no state to notice it, however, as she was sitting next to Emma, one hand in the laboring woman’s iron grip and the other wiping sweat from her brow. After one more great cry, Emma sagged back against the pillows, and the piercing wail of a newborn filled the room. “Is it—” Emma began, unable to finish her question.

“A boy, Mrs. Knightley,” Mrs. Yackley said, “and from the sound of things, a very healthy one.”

Elizabeth and Isabella both laughed a little at this pronouncement. Emma, on the other hand, burst into tears, doubtless a release of all the anxiety of the day—nay, months. Elizabeth wrapped her arm around her friend’s shoulders and murmured what encouragement she could think of.

Eventually, when all was over and Emma had calmed herself somewhat, Mrs. Yackley brought the freshly cleaned and swaddled infant and laid him in Emma’s arms. “There you are, ma’am,” she said. “As handsome as I’ve ever seen.”

Elizabeth was not sure the midwife meant Emma or the baby, but either would be true. The heir of Donwell Abbey was pink and perfect, and Emma’s joy made her beauty transcendent.

Elizabeth slipped away then to fetch Mr. Knightley, to meet his son. She found the gentlemen nodding off in Knightley’s study. To her amusement, Darcy seemed to snap back into the world as soon as she entered the room; Knightley required a little more coaxing. But Elizabeth’s smile was enough to tell him all was well and that he was welcome elsewhere.

He hurried off with little ceremony, and Darcy gave Elizabeth a tired smile. “Well?”

“A boy,” she said.

“I am sure they are very pleased,” he replied, “and equally sure that Emma has his whole life planned out already.”

It was remarkable to Elizabeth, but it was not so many months ago that she would have taken such a thing seriously, as more reason to dislike Emma. Now she only smiled. “Give her an hour to recover first.”

For a moment they stood in silence, until Elizabeth could think past the pain in her hand and the excitement of the last few hours. “Were we right?” she asked. “The dam broke?”

“Yes, I am afraid so,” Darcy replied. “Fortunately it only flooded places which had flooded in the night. It is not ideal, but it could have been much worse. Some men from Kingston were already at work repairing it when we left it.”

“That is a relief,” Elizabeth said. “At least we have some good news in the day.”

“And our new little cousin is not good news enough?”

“Oh, he is, but I doubt he will be much help to the recovery effort for some months yet.”

Darcy laughed, but before he could say anything, Mr. Knightley came back into the room, carrying his son. Knightley’s face was full of awe, and it seemed he could hardly tear his eyes away from the child. Darcy and Elizabeth offered their heartfelt congratulations. “I must thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mrs. Darcy,” Knightley said, with more feeling than was typical for him. “I am so grateful you came this morning, considering how the day has ended.”

“It was an honor, I assure you. After all, it is not every day one has the opportunity to help free some schoolgirls from a locked room, race across a flooded stream, and help a friend in labor.”

Darcy looked at her sharply, but said nothing until they had parted ways with the lovestruck father. Knightley went back to his wife, and they headed homeward. Along the short ride, Darcy said, “So Emma is a friend now.”

“How could she not be?” Elizabeth replied. “How could anyone go through such a day as we have had and not be friends by the end of it?”

“So that is all? Circumstance faced together?”

“No,” Elizabeth said slowly. “No, not just that. Perhaps we would have been, regardless, or perhaps we were already.”

Darcy nodded in understanding. “I had shipmates whom I liked well enough, but the experience of a crisis brought us a fellowship for which I have no proper name.”

Elizabeth pulled her shawl tighter against the cold and damp. “There is such a word in French, of course.”

He almost growled. “Peace, madam.”

* * *

Emma had slept longer than she intended, for the skies were grey when she awoke. Her body was aching, but none of that mattered when she turned her head and saw her husband in a chair nearby, cradling their son. She smiled at the sight, both familiar and new. “I have always thought you looked exceptionally well with a baby in your arms,” she said.

He smiled at her with a softness she had never seen before, and it warmed her heart. Carefully he rose, and while he came to sit with her on the bed, Emma managed to sit up a little more, tucking a pillow behind her back. As soon as she was steady again, she reached for the baby, which Knightley obligingly laid in her arms. The baby squirmed a little at the disturbance and let out the plaintive cry of a newborn, but Emma soon had him settled again.

“He is perfect, George,” she said, tears in her eyes, while her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “How did you and I of all people create someone so perfect?”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Let us give God the credit.” They were quiet a few moments, then Knightley said, “Isabella and Mrs. Yackley have finally come to an agreement.”

“Oh?”

“They agreed that he came a little early. Mrs. Yackley said it was not so great a surprise after hearing how you have spent the last two days.”

Emma looked up at him. “Is he—is something wrong? Should we be worried, or—or—do we need to watch for signs of—”

“Oh, my dearest Emma,” Knightley interrupted, “Isabella will worry about him enough for all of us. Mrs. Yackley says he is in excellent health, only a little small.”

“He will grow quickly enough, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” After a pause, he said, “He needs a name.”

“Oh! I find myself furious at John and Isabella now, for using so many names already.”

“I suppose that is what happens when you have six children to name.”

“Your father’s name was Richard, was it not?”

Knightley sighed. “A name he always despised, I am told. There was a reason he did not give it to his sons.”

“Hmm.” Emma kissed her son’s forehead and sighed. “My mother’s father was Theodore.”

“Theodore Knightley, then?”

“Theodore Knightley,” Emma said, letting the sound of the name play upon the ear.

“I like that quite well,” Knightley replied.

Emma wondered if it was too similar to the name which the Westons had chosen for their newborn, but then her son yawned and opened his eyes, looking up at her. “My dear little one,” she said. “My dear little Theo.”

Theodore blinked once, yawned again, and settled back to sleep in his mother’s arms. Sunlight was starting to creep into the room, and though Emma gladly could have slept away half the day, no better dawn than this could be: her husband, her son, and her heart full of a love she could not voice.

* * *

When Elizabeth finally came down for breakfast, she found Georgiana standing in the foyer, a note in her hand. “Georgiana,” she said, “is something wrong?”

“Oh,” Georgiana said, “it is from John. He asks me to come to the church when I have a moment free.”

“Goodness, I had forgot,” Elizabeth said. “Tomorrow is supposed to be your wedding day. Edmund and Eva will be here in a few hours. Forgive me.”

Georgiana smiled wistfully. “Nothing to forgive. The last two days have been trying, to say the least.”

“I will walk with you, if you like,” Elizabeth said. “Perhaps afterward we can walk to the Abbey, and I can introduce you to your new cousin.”

Her sister was glad for the company, and after Elizabeth had eaten quickly, they were off. Along the way, Elizabeth told her of Darcy’s proposals, how she was trapped after a night and morning of rain and frustration. It put a smile on Georgiana’s face as they walked, glad they were on the road to the church and not the path to the vicarage.

As they entered the church, they understood Mr. Averill’s summons. The neat path, lined by flowers, was covered with debris. Inside, mud stained the floor; dirt and rocks and branches littered the aisle. There was broken glass too, for three windows on the west side of the church had been broken by a fallen tree.

Georgiana let out a sound of dismay at the sight. Elizabeth took her arm, and together they slowly processed to the front of the church, where they sat down in the vicarage pew. “I could cry,” Georgiana said. “I know it is silly—all of this can be repaired—but this beautiful little church…”

Elizabeth put her arm around her sister and sighed. “This place is about to become very important to you,” she replied. “It is to me as well. I was married here too, after all.”

After a pause, Georgiana said, “You know, you and my brother were married here and we were all trapped at Glen Eyrie that night in a snowstorm. Now John and I are to be married here and this happens.”

“I begin to wonder if Darcys are not meant to live in Surrey.”

Together they laughed, but then Georgiana sighed. “I spoke with Lady Tyndale yesterday, before she returned to the vicarage,” she said. “Or rather, she spoke with me.”

“Oh?”

“You were right to warn me about first impressions. I was wrong to think she thought I was not grand enough for her son. Quite the reverse, in fact.”

“I see,” Elizabeth said. “She thought Miss Darcy of Pemberley was too grand for a country vicar.”

“Even one whose brother is the next Lord Averill. I suppose I understand.”

“What changed her mind?”

“In a roundabout way, you did. You left me in charge of Glen Eyrie and she spent most of the day with me. She really was very helpful when I asked her advice. By the end of it all, she told me what her concerns were and what assuaged them. I am happier now knowing what the trouble was. Although John was not pleased at all to know she had doubted my suitability.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Good for him.”

They were silent a little while, looking at the broken windows, the tree limbs still stuck through them. At last, Georgiana said, “‘When I consider the works of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained…’”

As she spoke, Elizabeth heard footsteps behind them, and she was not surprised to see Mr. Averill entering the church. “‘What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?’” he said, finishing the verse. “‘And the son of man, that Thou visitest him?’”

Georgiana stood and turned at the sound of his voice. “John.”

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” he said. “I know not how long it will take to clean everything and replace the glass.”

“Of course. The homes in the parish must take precedence.”

Elizabeth stood up and laid a hand on Georgiana’s arm in comfort. Meanwhile Mr. Averill said, “I suppose this means we must delay our wedding.”

“Yes.” Then Georgiana frowned and looked at her betrothed at the other end of the aisle. “No.”

“No?”

“Why must we? You know me, John. I have no need of finery for finery’s sake. Is this place any less sacred for a little mud and broken glass?”

Mr. Averill smiled, though tiredly. “I confess, I have no desire to wait.”

The young lovers were watching each other with their hearts in their eyes, so Elizabeth decided to inject a little practicality into the scene. “Do let us clear the glass from the floor first, Georgiana.”

The couple both looked at her, puzzled for a moment, and then they laughed.

They were smiling again when next they were in the church. Word spread through the parish that the wedding was going forward as planned, and early the following morning, a group gathered to clean the church as best they could. By the time the bride-people arrived, it had been scrubbed to a shine. The broken glass had been swept up, and the fallen tree pulled away too. The windows would not be replaced for some time, but they were at least covered over to keep the brisk wind out of the building.

Elizabeth did not think Georgiana took in much of the detail, however. In her white gown, with all its embroidery, and hothouse flowers in her hand, she was glowing with joy. Mr. Averill too looked to be overflowing with happiness. As they exchanged their vows, Elizabeth squeezed her husband’s arm. He covered her hand for a moment, then gave her his handkerchief. She was not too proud to admit she needed it.

* * *

In the weeks of her recovery, Emma found herself worrying and fretting more than she ever had in the whole course of her life. Her concern was not for her son—little Theodore was healthy and thriving—but for the community from which she was temporarily isolated. Until she was churched, she thought she could be of no use in the recovery from the storm, and this might well have left her feeling more helpless than she was accustomed.

Knightley kept her abreast of developments, but were it not for Elizabeth Darcy, Emma was quite sure she would have gone mad. Elizabeth did not just bring her news; she brought problems to be solved. Nearly every day brought Elizabeth (and often Mrs. Bergamot and Mrs. Averill as well) to Donwell, to sit with Emma and work out the recovery. Elizabeth asked advice, and together they managed the thousand smaller matters which were desperately needed.

As much as Emma wanted to be out in Highbury and Donwell to help, she had the feeling that there was a benefit to the timing of her confinement. Emma heard more than one neighbor express gratitude for Elizabeth’s help, and it had established Elizabeth’s place in their society more firmly than ten years of residence would. At another time in her life, Emma knew she would have resented it. She would have resented the intrusion of this outsider, taking over duties which Emma held dear. She had nothing but thanks for Elizabeth, though. Her only regret was that she had not tried harder to befriend Elizabeth earlier. What had they missed through such animosity?

But there was no such trouble anymore; in fact, the feelings on both sides were so fully transformed that there was hardly any point in remembering the former ones. Emma watched with delight as Elizabeth lifted little Theodore and kissed his cheek, on what would be the last visit before Emma’s confinement was over. Georgiana was there too, idly sketching the baby on the back of a letter from Jane Churchill. “When will he be christened?” she asked.

“In a se’ennight,” Emma replied. “I am surprised you did not know already.”

“Oh, there are so many demands upon my time that I cannot as yet keep up with John’s business along with my own,” Georgiana said. “But the most pressing concerns are being dealt with, and our housekeeper always warns me before anything of great import.”

“A good housekeeper is worth her weight in gold,” said Elizabeth, between kisses to Theodore’s hands.

Georgiana set down her pen and smiled. “Will little Theo be jealous of his cousin when your confinement comes, Elizabeth?”

“If you are asking if I will ignore my godson in favor of my own child, I am appalled, Georgiana,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “I can certainly love this baby and my baby all at once—and yours too, when the time comes.” Georgiana blushed, as a young woman only married a month ought. “You do not have any news on that score, do you?”

“Oh, no—no, no,” Georgiana said.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to tease,” Elizabeth replied. “Besides, there is nothing wrong with waiting a little while. I am not altogether certain your brother and I were prepared for this so soon after our wedding.”

“Do not worry about it too much,” Emma said, taking her cousin’s hand gently. “God willing, the time will come when you are ready.”

Georgiana smiled. “Thank you, Emma.”

Theodore was starting to fuss, so Emma took him back. Just then, there came a knock on the door, and a maid entered, bearing a note. “For Mrs. Darcy, ma’am,” she said with a curtsey. “The footman said it was urgent.”

Elizabeth took the note with a frown, which turned to shock as she read it. “I must get home at once,” she said. “I cannot believe it.”

“What? What has happened?” Emma and Georgiana said at once.

Elizabeth was halfway to the door. “Lydia’s husband,” she said. “He’s alive!”

* * *

At Glen Eyrie, Elizabeth found the house all in confusion. Georgiana had come with her, hoping to help Lydia. Darcy met them at the door. “Lydia has fainted,” he said, “and I have no idea if this gentleman is who he claims.”

“Where are they?” Elizabeth asked.

“I took Lydia into the drawing room—her maid is with her—and the man is in my study.”

“Elizabeth, I will go to Lydia if you like,” Georgiana offered.

“Thank you, Georgiana. I suppose that leaves me to our guest.”

Georgiana rushed to the drawing room, leaving the Darcys to face whatever awaited them in the study.

Elizabeth remembered Godfrey Bergamot as a slight sort of man, tall but gangling, and a little nervous. What Lydia saw in him had long been a mystery. The man now standing in the study was thinner and browner than Elizabeth remembered, but so too had Lydia been. He stood in the middle of the room, fiddling with his hat anxiously. As Elizabeth entered the room, he blurted out, “Miss Elizabeth—pardon me, I mean Mrs.—Mrs. Darby?”

“Darcy,” she corrected. “You—you really are Godfrey Bergamot, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I know how unlikely all of this sounds.”

“Unlikely? Impossible is a better word,” Elizabeth said. “You were swept overboard, sir.”

“And in one of the most dangerous places in the world,” Darcy put in.

“How I survived in the water, I know not,” Mr. Bergamot said. “I washed ashore on one of the islands along Cape Horn. It was weeks before I had regained some measure of strength and was able to understand what had happened.”

“So you have been in Argentina all this time?” Elizabeth asked, sinking into a chair. “Did you—did you try to write or—”

“I tried, but Argentina is in the midst of a war, trying to win its independence from Spain.”

“And they are not so fond of the English either,” Darcy said. “We did try to invade Buenos Aires at least once, and Montevideo as well.”

“Well, who has not been at war with England in the last ten years?” she asked of no one. “You told my sister all this?”

“I did not have the chance. She fainted immediately.”

Of all the moments for Lydia to actually faint! “How did you find us?” Elizabeth asked, feeling very tired.

“The East India Company had your direction.”

“Of course.” She stood up again, shaking her head. “I must see to my sister. Will you stay here with the captain?”

Mr. Bergamot nodded, and Elizabeth touched her husband’s arm on her way out of the room.

As she approached the drawing room, she could hear Georgiana speaking lowly, and she was pleased to see Lydia rousing. Elizabeth knelt next to Georgiana and brushed Lydia’s hair back from her forehead. “Lydia,” she said.

“Lizzy, I—I cannot believe…”

“I know, dearest.”

“Is it really him, Elizabeth?” Georgiana asked. “How could he possibly have survived?”

“I cannot explain it at all, except by an act of God,” Elizabeth replied. “It must have taken him six months to recover from his injuries and make his way to a port.”

“I—I had only just begun to accept this,” Lydia managed through a few tears. “To accept that he was gone forever. How could he be alive?”

“Are you unhappy to see him again?” Georgiana asked, some alarm in her voice.

“I hardly know. I hoped for this for so long, and to find it was not in vain…”

Elizabeth leaned in to kiss Lydia’s forehead. “You do not have to understand this all at once, Lydia. But if you are willing, I think he would very much like to see you again.”

“Of course. Help me up.” As Elizabeth and Georgiana assisted her, she added, “Fainting is very unpleasant, Lizzy.”

“I am sure it is.”

Once Mr. Bergamot had come into the room and it was clear Lydia would not faint again, Elizabeth found an excuse to leave the room, taking Georgiana with her, though they were both rather desperate to know what passed. “Oh, for thinner walls,” Georgiana murmured.

“Why, Mrs. Averill, are you an eavesdropper as well as a snake charmer?” Elizabeth asked.

“Some days,” Georgiana said with a grin.

That night, after much spiritual counsel from John Averill and at least as much legal counsel from John Knightley, Elizabeth sat with Lydia for above an hour to see that her nerves were settled. Afterward she found her own husband in their room, reading one of the books she inherited from her father. He looked up when she entered, then set the book aside entirely. “My dear?”

Elizabeth leaned against the closed door, her hands clasped behind her back. “I was thinking how fragile all of this is,” she said. “Emma told me today that the last of their tenants have finally left the Abbey, for their own homes have only just been repaired from the storm. Lydia thought she lost her husband, and very nearly did. And you…”

Darcy rose from his chair and walked the short distance to her. “And I?”

“How easily I could have lost you, without ever knowing you,” she said, feeling more sentimental than was her wont, as he rested one forearm against the door above her head, letting his other hand skim her side. “How easily you might have perished in the war. And had you been the elder son, I never would have known you.”

“Is fate so easily deterred?” he asked idly.

Elizabeth laughed. “You have a great opinion of our marriage to call it fate.”

“All I know is that I needed you, and I met you at the very moment I was ready for a sea-change. Can you not say the same?”

He leaned in then for a kiss Elizabeth very much wanted. She brought her hands up to cup his face, drawing him closer and drawing more from him. He had never left her wanting, but now she wanted ever more and more.

“My love, my love,” she murmured, as his lips traced down her throat.

“My love,” he repeated. “Always, always my love.”

* * *

Excerpted, from Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy to Lady Eva Darcy:

As fantastical as it sounds, I fear I must beg permission to bring a fourth when we visit Pemberley this summer. My sister Lydia’s husband has turned up at my doorstep, quite alive, and understandably unwilling to part from his wife for the time being. In his favor I will tell you that he is a quiet, polite sort of man, and possessed of a tale which I am positive no guest has ever told at your table.

* * *

The appearance of Mr. Bergamot caused quite a stir in the neighborhood, but it was nothing to the commotion it would cause when Mrs. Bergamot informed her publisher of the development. The book was slightly delayed while she wrote an epilogue of sorts for it. In their initial draft, Georgiana had been adamantly against the notion of an epilogue, claiming that Lydia had written a complete story on its own, but now conceded that this conclusion deserved a reckoning.

The revised book went to print in September, and the Bennet sisters celebrated by gathering in one place for the first time since Jane’s wedding. Of course, that was not the only cause for celebration. As the coldest, wettest summer in memory came to a dreary end, Elizabeth was safely delivered of her child, a girl named Eveline.

The summer, though cold, saw a great deal of active struggle to restore what had been lost in the storm. Through it all, the women of Highbury and Donwell led much of the effort, seeing to it that the community around them could rebuild. It would take more than a summer—more than a year—but eventually, Highbury would thrive again.

By Christmas, Theodore could sit up on his own, Eveline’s eyes had darkened to the brown of her mother’s, and Lydia’s book had gone to a second printing. Its success brought a measure of fame to her, something Elizabeth felt quite sure would have amused and horrified their father in equal measures. Lydia and her husband traveled the following year, visiting her sisters in turn and touring the country they had left so abruptly years before.

In the end, however, the Bergamots returned to Glen Eyrie, where Lydia claimed the air was best for her writing. No children followed for them, but they did not regret it. They had ample time, opportunity, and means to travel, and Lydia could devote herself to writing. Elizabeth did not pretend to understand her sister, but before a decade was out, she would bear two more children whom Lydia would thoroughly dote upon, and Lydia would write four novels, while her memoir saw its fifth edition.

There was greater understanding, though, with one of her neighbors. Between Emma and Elizabeth there was an ever-increasing intimacy. In Darcy, Elizabeth had found love, passion, and esteem together; but in Emma, she found a fellowship she never imagined she needed, formed between equal minds. Their friendship might have begun on inauspicious terms, but now its anchor was sure and steadfast.

* * *

_July 28, 1825_

“Do you realize it has been ten years since we met?”

Elizabeth was somewhat startled by her husband’s question, but mostly for its abruptness. It was a hot, dry day, and the Donwell and vicarage families were spending the afternoon at Glen Eyrie. The children were playing near the stream, while the parents sat in the shade several yards away. “What brought on that observation?” Elizabeth asked.

Darcy held up the book in his hands. “Lydia’s latest. The novel appears to be about a murder committed at Waterloo.”

“Gracious, it _has_ been ten years since Napoleon was defeated.”

“Indeed it has.”

“Did Lydia question you about all of that for her novel?”

“She did, and Colonel Jehoshaphat as well.”

Elizabeth smiled and set aside her letters. “You really must not call him that.”

“It is too confusing to call him by my own name.”

“A name you hardly ever hear in any case.”

“Fitzwilliam,” said Georgiana, as though to disprove Elizabeth’s point, “how is Lydia’s latest? I did not have a chance to read the final draft before she sent it off.”

“Very unusual. I have little doubt it will be the talk of London next winter, and spawn many lesser imitators. The character hired to solve the mystery is quite intriguing,” Darcy replied. “I suppose this is a good use for the habit you and Eva got her into, by distracting her with murder reports in the papers.”

“Well, Mrs. Bergamot certainly has imagination enough to spin a tale of murder to engross a nation,” Emma said. “Does anyone see Pierre?”

Darcy gave a great sigh at the name, and Elizabeth suppressed a smile. Emma and Knightley’s second child, a boy born only a year and a half after Theodore, had properly been christened Peter, but Georgiana had begun calling him Pierre because her brother’s continued irritation at all things French amused her so, and the sobriquet stuck. “Your eldest daughter has a French name, my dear,” she said, though they had had this conversation numerous times.

“‘Eveline’ is from the Latin,” he said with some indignation.

Elizabeth met Emma’s gaze and rolled her eyes. “Emma, will you walk down with me? Let us see what mischief the children are conjuring.”

Emma agreed, and the two ladies set off down the slope to the river. “It hardly seems possible that ten years have passed since we met, but look at this brood,” Emma remarked, gesturing to the children down below.

“I was so frustrated with my life then,” Elizabeth mused. “I had hardly any choice or purpose. Hardly a surprise that you did not much like me then, when I had such feelings about myself.”

“That does not matter now, Elizabeth,” Emma said firmly. “You and I have both got what we needed since. And you were here when Highbury and Donwell needed you most.”

Indeed, the time after the great storm had been difficult for everyone, and the recovery took years. Though they had not experienced such extensive flooding again, the three years following were very wet and cold. Crops were bad all over England, and some referred to 1816 as the year without a summer.

Through it all, Emma and Elizabeth had joined forces to make sure all the needs of their community were met. It was a terrible challenge, but Elizabeth firmly believed that it had made her a better person, more attuned to what she could do for others—more like her friend.

Down at the stream, they found Pierre hiding behind a large rock, just in time to stop him from jumping out and scaring the little ones. They sent him off to play with Theodore, Christopher Darcy, and Simon Averill. The three little girls—Sarah Knightley, Amelia Darcy, and Lydia Averill—were playing together, unsuspecting of Pierre’s attempt to interfere, though Elizabeth secretly thought Eveline could have put a very effective stop to that if she wished.

Soon, though, little Amelia, who was not quite four years old, wandered off from the rest. Elizabeth watched her investigate the large rock where Pierre had been hiding, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing as her youngest daughter emerged with a snake in her hands. “Mamma!” Amelia cried. “Look!”

“Oh!” Emma cried, as Amelia approached them.

“Goodness,” Elizabeth said, though _she_ was not surprised, for she had often wondered if this would turn out to be a family trait. “Yes, it is a very nice snake, dear. Why don’t you go and show it to your Aunt Averill?”

Amelia grinned before dashing up the hill. “Are you sure that is wise?” Emma asked.

Elizabeth did not answer. The two ladies turned to watch. Amelia came up to her aunt, proudly displaying her discovery. Georgiana cried out in delight, but when the men caught sight of it, they all gave great shouts of dismay.

Elizabeth turned to her friend, and they both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone! This story has been a really rewarding project for me on a couple different levels, and I’m both thrilled and sad to see its conclusion. I hope you’ve enjoyed it too.


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